Two Dozen Veela
by sirius009
Summary: Frustrated by the inaction of the ICW, Gabrielle Delacour reaches out to an old acquaintance to investigate a series of kidnappings. H/Gabrielle
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: **I don't own Harry Potter.

**A/N: **The last chapter of my first story, **"Path to Power," **was posted in conjunction with this story.

**A/N 2: **I blatantly steal the term "Zekanot" from **EC Scrubb **and his story **"When a Veela Cries." **I may or may not steal several veela names (I am using Azzura and Jaleena for very minor roles) from him as well. He has given me his permission. If anyone has an issue or for some reason requires some sort of proof, shoot me a PM.

**Rating: M. **Drugs, alcohol, swearing, sexual innuendos, violence – and that's just chapter one!

* * *

They made their way through throngs of people in no particular hurry, her daughter's tiny fingers loosely intertwined with her own, she allowed Tara to lead the way.

She laughed as her daughter led them to the edge of the dock and leaned over with her palm outstretched, inviting the gulls to steal the rest of her croissant.

Her daughter looked back at her, a smug look on her chubby face while she blatantly broke one of Marissa's rules before being shooed along by her mother.

As they continued their quest the muggle crowd parted in silence. Men stopped to gawk at the silver-haired beauty with a small girl sharing her hair, and eyes as green as grass; while women shot them looks of disdain.

The pair made the rest of their way towards the white-stone pavilion overlooking the varying shades of blue that made up the Mediterranean Sea in silence, enjoying the sounds and smells that came with such a public setting.

She longed for these afternoons away from the confines of the reservation almost as much as her daughter.

"Mom!" Tara cried with a pout as Marissa found herself nearly being dragged from her feet by the excited girl.

For a brief moment she wanted to chastise her daughter for her impatience, instead a glimpse of her daughter's eyes and a long forgotten memory of a similar interaction with her own mother brought a smile to her angelic face.

Marissa let out a harmonic laugh, ignoring the reactions of the muggles who had been tracking their every move.

'_As long as they're not looking at her.' _She thought uncomfortably, disturbed by the thoughts of men.

"Aderfi is not going anywhere!" She said with a laugh as they approached her daughter's final destination.

"Ad-er-fee." Tara tried, the bright sun reflecting off her button nose as it crinkled in consternation at the difficulty of the exotic word.

"Ader-fee." The young girl sounded out with a bit more confidence as the rotund street vendor with skin the shade of sand laughed in delight.

"Very good, my child!"

Tara smiled in fond satisfaction - it was rare when she encountered a human with the willpower to treat her civilly. Interactions like these were the only thing preventing her daughter from becoming one of those jaded old hens showering the outside world with disdain from atop their perch.

"What does it mean?"

The man's upper lip moved beneath his thin black handlebar mustache, exposing a set of slightly crooked, yellowing teeth.

"Aderfi means 'Free.'" The large man said, offering no further explanation.

Marissa took the time to appreciate the Berber's name as he handed the pair of them sticks with tiny cubes of meat and headed off towards a bench overlooking a large marina, admiring the large yachts in awe.

'_Freedom.' _ Did she have it? Did Tara?

Aderfi had it with his mobile cart. A meager existence free of masters was better than a life of luxury in a cage.

'_Or on a reservation.'_

The veela were free to live wherever they wished, though few were comfortable enough to venture outside the safety of the reservation alone. She refused to let Tara become that sheltered, that terrified by reality that she was unable to live a full life.

Muggles and their boats, such incredible structures. She thought, her mind turning back to the yachts in front of her and away from the confines of reality.

While muggles re-invented the world, wizards and their egos, their _complacency_ were so reliant on magic they had lost their creativity.

"_We have become stagnant as a society…" _The words of the Granger woman on the wireless echoed loudly in her mind as they continued to eat in compatible silence.

The declaration had become the controversy of their times.

Off in the distance they could hear the music coming from the beach where dozens of muggles had congregated to play some sort of game with a net and a ball.

She watched for a long moment as the muggles, not much younger than herself, moved about carelessly, sipping out of plastic cups and dancing to the rhythm of the music without a worry in the world.

Marissa longed for the simplicity that had evaded her people for generations.

'_Free.' _She craved the delusion where she and Tara could spend days on end taking delight in the wonders of the city.

Her green eyes drifted past the beach and into the hills sitting above Cannes, fantasizing about a small home overlooking the sea.

In the morning they would make crepes and sip espresso in the garden, discussing the various herbs and creatures that make themselves known as they enjoyed each other's company. In the afternoons they'd bike into town for lunch where she would teach Tara the history of the Zekanot and their kind. In the evenings she would teach her magic till she was old enough to attend Beauxbatons or Durmstrang.

A simple, peaceful life. That was all she desired.

"Help!"

The shrill voice broke through her fantasy, drawing her attention to the frantic English woman flailing around the pavilion.

"Help!" She repeated desperately, the people around her seeming to pay her no mind.

"Have you seen my daughter?" The woman asked as she approached random strangers, shoving a small electronic device into their faces.

A man gave her a rude look before pushing her along the pavilion and closer to the two of them.

"Does anybody speak English?!" The young woman with unnaturally bright blonde hair shouted in desperation.

Marissa offered the woman a pitying smile. "I do." She spoke up from several meters away.

The bigger woman with too much makeup gave her a relieved look before pressing the small screen into her personal space, revealing a picture of a small girl with the same dull brown eyes as the woman in front of her.

She was too overwhelmed by the ordeal to register the woman's lack of reaction to the two veela before the woman was speaking once more.

"Have you seen my daughter? I turned around for an instant and she was gone!" The woman wailed, her arms flailing dramatically above her head.

Marissa felt a wave of sympathy for the poor mother overcome her as her own eyes darted towards a wide-eyed Tara.

She didn't know what she would do if she lost her own daughter.

"Where did you see her last?" Marissa asked, her maternal instincts taking over naturally.

The other woman pointed towards a bench near an alleyway not far off. "We were over there, and then she was gone!" The British woman cried in exasperation. "I checked the alleyway, but she was nowhere to be found."

Marissa smiled in reassurance. "Did you check the side shoot on the left about midway down?"

The side street was easy to miss if you weren't sure where it was. Rumor amongst her flock was the area used to be an unofficial wizarding district in the nineteenth century, the remnants of its protections making it nearly impossible for muggles to find unassisted.

The woman's eyes widened in shock, hazel orbs showing signs of hope for the first time since they had begun conversing.

"Show me." She demanded.

She sighed but grabbed Tara's hand anyhow. Gelato would have to wait.

About two thirds of the way down the alley she stopped at a small opening.

The other woman seemed to look about for several long moments before settling on the ill-maintained opening before them.

"How did I miss this?" The other woman asked in an over the top fashion.

The dramatic nature of the proclamation teetered the boundaries between exasperation and performance art making her slightly uncomfortable with the whole situation.

Tightening her grip on Tara, she turned the corner leading them down the narrow alley.

A cold passed through her as they wound their way through the empty streets in search of the missing child.

'_Shouldn't we be calling out for her daughter?' _She thought, her trepidation building with each step.

"What did you say your daughter's name was?" She asked the oddly silent woman.

The footsteps behind her came to a halt as she felt her daughter's hand slip out of her own, her body falling to the ground with a loud _*thud*. _

Turning around in confusion she was met by the tip of a wand followed by a blinding blue light.

* * *

"...our people are in the middle of a crisis!" She stated firmly her voice never wavering while her perfectly symmetrical face struck the difficult balance between harsh and approachable as her sea blue eyes scanned the various delegations in an attempt to read the body language of the other attendees, looking for something _specific. _Even if she couldn't exactly enunciate what that something was, it was something more instinctual than anything else.

'_Bingo.' _She thought predatorily, her eyes falling on the voting member of the German delegation, a middle-aged man with looks similar to her own was eyeing her cleavage indiscriminately.

The bowels of her mind churned in disgust at the man's hungry look but she pushed on with her speech, willing to deal with the blatant arousal if she got what she came here for.

"Without the support of the confederation, we lack the resources necessary to conduct a thorough investigation into the disappearance of twenty two woman and children over the last eighteen months."

A steady stream of polite applause broke out among the circular chamber as she concluded her speech, though she saw a few among them roll their eyes at her final proclamation.

She stood calmly at the dais as the applause died down before turning on a black heel and vacating the pedestal with unnatural grace she made to leave, hoping her form-fitting knee-length black skirt would sway another horny old man desperate to win her affection.

A longshot, one that her perfect older sister would scoff at but one that her people desperately needed.

Fleur and her charmed life didn't understand sacrifice. Desperate times called for desperate measures.

As predicted, Rudolph Wilhelm was waiting for her in the atrium as they broke for lunch.

"Ms. Delacour." He started in lightly accented English. "A word." He said through an unnatural smile, the result of a high volume of oral potions, she was sure.

Gabrielle offered the man a warm smile of her own, showing off her own set of perfect teeth, using her aura to raise the man's natural dopamine levels.

The simpleton shifted uncomfortably. Her smile covered her internal disgust. Gabrielle could smell his arousal.

"Von Wilhelm." She purred, the name rolling off her tongue with ease.

Inside she wanted to eviscerate the swine.

Gabrielle was nearly the same age as Adal, a rather striking ballerina with the German National Theater. Adal shared Gabrielle's full lips, her honey blonde hair, her athletic body type.

She shuttered, dismissing the easy comparisons – the veela needed him. Germany had a high seat on the ICW. Support on the floor from someone of his stature could provide the veela with what they so desperately desired.

She would persevere she told herself as von Wilhelm planted an overly familiar kiss on each of her cheeks, allowing his hand to rest just below the small of her back.

She could do it, if she wanted to. Her wand was in her sleeve and she knew the spell. A quick thought and the German shit would be emasculated in the atrium of the International Confederation of Wizards.

Her father's French heritage nearly demanded she do it out of honor.

"_This is for the 'Manstein Plan!'" _

She nearly snorted at the thought, wondering if the wizard would even understand.

"The plight of your people, it's terrible." He said, his tone lacking any discernible sincerity.

The incestuous bastard wanted to slip Adal's leotard off of her.

"It is." She replied diplomatically, fighting her own disgust. Her people deserved her best effort.

"The Zekanot would be in your debt if Germany were to show her support." She said taking his larger right hand in her own left, using her index finger to massage his palm, unleashing the brunt of her heritage.

Wilhelm let out a barely audible moan before composing himself.

"Germany would love to help our friends at the Zekanot." He said diplomatically. "But we lack the resources to commit to your cause." He said with unconvincing sympathy.

She used her free hand to brush a strand of honey blonde away from her eyes, drawing his attention to her button nose and inviting lips.

"Completely understandable, von Wilhelm." She inflected a bit of husk into her voice, eliciting another pleasurable moan from the man. "We don't need your resources, just your clout." Gabrielle's voice was barely above a whisper as she stared into his eyes. "You can, help me by convincing your comrades to bring our proposal to a vote." She said, her mouth nearly touching his.

"The Zekanot, of course, will reward Germany – and yourself - financially."

She had no idea if that last part was true but she could make it happen if it came to it.

He stepped back. "That would seem to be a lot of effort on my part." The German's voice was all business as he spoke before making a display of checking the time.

"However." He said placing his hands on her hips as he undressed her with his eyes. "We still have 48 minutes left for lunch. Why don't we go to an unused room and continue this negotiation?"

The sound of her hand smacking his face reverberated across the atrium, briefly drawing the attention of several of her associates at the ICW, particularly a delegate from India, whose pretty laugh had drawn her own attention while the German representative stormed off in anger.

Seeming to sense Gabrielle's interest, the dark skinned beauty in the elaborate salwar kameez gracefully made her way towards Gabrielle.

Gabrielle almost did a double take. From afar she recognized the woman in front of her from the social pages in Britain's 'Daily Prophet' before dismissing the silly notion.

"Padma Patil, Indian delegation." The taller woman said, her voice containing a distinct north London accent.

Upon hearing the name she did do a double take. She'd heard her brother-in-law tell the disastrous story of his date with a younger Padma Patil fifteen years prior during the famed Triwizard Tournament.

"Gabrielle Delacour, Veela nation." She said with pride, gripping the other woman's hand with a bit of strength.

"Rudolph is a pig." The Indian woman said with disgust. "He preys on strong women in desperate situations. I enjoyed watching your interaction with him"

She chortled. "And here I thought he wanted me because I reminded him of his daughter."

Padma's face looked as though she had just smelled sour milk. "I hadn't even considered that." She admitted, disgust evident as her eyes trailed back to the man in question.

Not for the first time Gabrielle wondered if Annette was right about her and her cynicism.

A voice echoed through the chamber, providing the delegation with a forty five minute warning till the day's session was to resume.

Dropping all pretense she looked towards the older woman once more.

"Can the veela count on India to call a vote on our proposal?" She asked, hoping her own resigned desperation didn't shine through.

Padma offered her a pitiful expression. "I'm afraid I don't have the power to make that call." Her tone was almost apologetic.

Gabrielle resisted the urge to roll her eyes.

"Call a simple vote, that's it. That will allow me the opportunity to present a more formal case." She felt her calm façade crack as she finished out the last bit but pushed forward.

"I'm only a junior member, my father is who you would need to convince."

Gabrielle thought for a long moment, trying to remember the dossier on the Patil family.

"Your fathers." She said desperately. "Are they still seeking a meeting with Hermione Granger-Weasley?"

Padma gave her a once over and raised an eyebrow. "Are you blackmailing my family?"

'_Is she an idiot?'_

A smile crossed her face. "Of course not." She said, resisting the urge to ask the other woman how she felt offering a favor would qualify as blackmail. "But she is my sister-in-law. I'm sure she could be persuaded to take a meeting."

Padma provided her a thoughtful look before frowning. "I'm sorry." She said. "We can't help you this time."

'_Maybe I should buy the Pakistani delegation a round of drinks and whisper in their ears about Kashmir.' _She thought vindictively as the Indian witch sauntered back towards her section.

With her hopes dashed, Gabrielle walked in the opposite direction towards the floo. There was no need to waste the rest of her afternoon, her people would prefer to hear bad news immediately.

* * *

Gabrielle stepped out of the floo and into a cozy room painted in pastels with oil paintings lining the walls.

The formality of the ICW no longer necessary, she removed her uncomfortable black heels, making her way through the room with a practiced elegance.

"_Bun venit, doamnă Delacour." _The hostess greeted her with a polite smile.

She paused to smile at the teenager. For as long as she could remember Adriana had been greeting customers at her mother's tearoom in the heart of Calea Victoriei.

The posh neighborhood showcased Bucharest's luxurious side and Sonya's Tearoom was no exception. Catering to muggles, wizards, and creatures alike, the establishment had a simple elegance about it.

"_Mulțumesc Adriana. Ce face mama ta?"_

Her great grandaunt Annette had grown particularly close to the owner over the decades. Spending hours upstairs or in the back parlor reviewing documents and taking meetings.

As Annette Monclair's standing within the Zekanot increased, others began to make the pilgrimage to the posh tearoom to meet with her, turning the comfortable establishment into an unofficial meeting spot for veela across Europe. Gabrielle herself had watched Adriana grow from a toddler to a young woman entering her sixth year at Durmstrang.

"_Frustrat. Vârcolacii au provocat probleme."_

She nodded her head sympathetically, werewolves tended to become agitated this close to the full moon.

"_O să fie bine în trei zile." _She said, hoping she was able to demonstrate her half-joking reminder effectively in Romanian.

The brunette smiled, a pair of cute dimples drawing attention to a set of pearly white teeth.

Like Annette, Gabrielle had come to appreciate the comfortable tearoom and all it had to offer.

"_Știu, știu ... "_Adriana said before her voice dropped several octaves. _"Britanicii s-au arătat interesați de firma lui Lord Malfoy și s-au întâlnit cu omologii lor români."_

She smiled at Adriana, passing her several gold coins before heading up a narrow staircase to their left.

The news was unsurprising. The British had been investigating Malfoy Enterprises for years without luck. Romania had more restrictions on free enterprise than Britain, if Bucharest was successful in charging Malfoy with a crime it would cripple their dealings in Eastern Europe.

'_It's been so long since Astoria and I had lunch.'_

Lady Malfoy had always been fond of her for some reason or another, having on multiple occasions invited her and Annette to their annual Yule Party. Though it had been years since they had been able to attend.

'_I believe Scorpius is three now?' _Perhaps it was time she made her way back to London on holiday.

"Gabrielle!" The fond voice of Annette Monclair rang out through the half-empty room, causing several veela to glance her way.

Despite her great grandaunt's enthusiastic greeting drawing unwanted attention to herself Gabrielle smiled, it was impossible not to when the silver-haired woman turned her attention on you.

Gabrielle met her halfway across the room, greeting the older veela with a hug.

Her great grandaunt gave her an once-over.

"Your feet stink." Annette said, waving her right hand in front of her nose dramatically, mischief in her eyes.

Gabrielle puffed her chest out and adopted an arrogant smirk. "A veela does not stink." She replied in exasperation. "She simply does not smell as pleasant as another veela."

A smattering of laughter rang out in the room but she ignored it, her focus on the amusement of Annette.

"Shut up you hen." The older veela admonished with a wave of her hand before turning back towards her. "Follow me."

Without another word Gabrielle followed the longest tenured member of the high council back to her de facto office.

"I take it that it did not go well?" Annette started bluntly.

A frustrated look came over Gabrielle's face as she added a bit of honey to her tea.

She wanted to pace the room and vent but knew it would do no good, Gabrielle wasn't talking to her great grandaunt she was talking to Elder Monclair, leader of the High Council, matriarch of her flock. Acting like a child now would only prove her own naysayers correct.

"It did not." She said calmly.

The councilwoman bit into a raspberry scone, formulating her thoughts as she chewed.

"You stuck to the script."

Her comment was a statement not a question. Gabrielle helped write the script, she wouldn't deviate.

"Of course."

Annette looked nonplussed as she sipped her tea.

"You enter the stage, you have five minutes to address the body, what's the first thing you noticed?"

She resisted the urge to roll her eyes. Of _course _they were going to talk through the issue. When she was twelve Annette made her talk her way through her first period.

"Restlessness." Gabrielle said.

The veela had been given the unenviable timeslot right before lunch. While some of the more respectful representatives remained silent and at least gave the impression of paying attention, the more traditional representatives openly ignored her, holding side conversations during the Veela's plea for help.

"A side effect of our time slot, no doubt." Annette said vocalizing her own thoughts, a frown on her face. The ICW wouldn't waste a valuable timeslot on a non-voting member.

"You have just delivered the first statistic, what are the reactions? Focus only on those you think were paying attention."

They were an ancient species, but they had never been populous. The last hundred years had pushed them to the brink of extinction.

"They were shocked but not surprised."

Her great grandaunt, however, was surprised. "Our numbers did not register with them?"

The skepticism in her voice was clear.

Clamping down on her occlumency, Gabrielle fixed a smile to her face. "Our struggles have been well documented Elder Monclair."

Annette rolled her eyes. The veela had a well-deserved reputation for crying wolf at the smallest perceived slight. "Have the last forty years shown them nothing?"

"Apparently not." Gabrielle deadpanned.

They sipped their tea silently for several long moments, making her increasingly uneasy. Sensing her discomfort, Annette gratefully moved on.

"What about our current situation, what was the reaction there?"

That had been interesting. The mention of the twenty two missing veela had sent several murmurs through the crowd, but not as many as she had hoped.

Marcus Flint had rolled his eyes at the proclamation and left.

"The British Representative left."

"Hmm." Annette responded, taking another sip of tea. "Lord Flint is the result of generations of inbreeding and poor decisions, his support means very little to me. I'm more worried about the more progressive members of the body. They are your peers, they are the ones you will need to grow close to if you're going to be effective." Annette reminded her.

If Gabrielle was being honest with herself it was an area where she could make improvements.

"What did you do next?" Her mentor inquired.

"I went fishing."

An amused smile tugged at the lips of the councilwoman.

"Any bites?"

The younger veela smiled. "A nibble." She started before quickly adding. "A crude nibble. By the Germans."

Her great grandaunt nodded in understanding before her mood became more melancholy.

"I've never trusted the Germans." Annette stated rhetorically, her avian eyes transfixed on the large grandfather clock behind Gabrielle.

She waited uncomfortably again for her great grandaunt to break the silence, knowing better than to rush the hen. Patience, Annette always said, was a virtue.

"The number is now twenty four." She said softly.

Gabrielle felt her spirit break as tears flooded her eyes, threatening to overflow.

Each of the dozen flocks had handled the abductions differently. Some had met the news with anger, most with fear. Her's saw a tragedy.

Removing a white handkerchief from her clutch, Gabrielle wiped away the unshed tears.

"Who?"

"Marissa and Tara."

'_Tara? Sweet Tara?' _

She was crying once more. She was so young.

"Does Fleur know?"

Annette frowned. "Not yet. She's coming by for dinner tomorrow, I planned on telling her then."

Fleur and Marissa had been particularly close before Marissa had felt the need to drop out of Beauxbaton's and return to the reservation.

"What do we do now?" Gabrielle asked softly.

They had been hoping to utilize the resources of the ICW but that no longer seemed to be a valid option.

"The Zekanot has an exceptional amount of resources at its disposal specifically set aside for emergencies that affect all of the flocks." Annette said in a deadly calm.

Gabrielle gave her a wicked smile. Despite their small population, her people had done an exceptional job of acquiring resources over the generations.

"What needs to be done?" Curiosity laced her voice. She couldn't recall the last time the Zekanot had declared an emergency.

'_Was I even alive?'_

A smile overcame Annette's face. "The elder of the high council needs to document the request in the registrar."

She stared at her, mouth agape, surprised at the simplicity before letting out a soft laugh. "Well you're more than qualified then. What is our plan?"

An uncharacteristic look settled on Annette's face.

"I'd like you to go to London and reach out to Harry Potter."

Gabrielle grimaced. "He's unreliable."

"He's brilliant." Annette countered. "When sober he is the most prolific wand on the market, his resume is impeccable."

She hadn't seen her childhood crush in nearly four years. Last time they had met she had recently completed three years of post-Beauxbaton's studies with the Zekanot and had just begun her apprenticeship to Annette.

They had been celebrating both Harry's one year anniversary in the elite 'Warlock's Battalion' within the auror corps and the announcement of his wife's pregnancy.

She wondered if that was the last time he had been happy.

"_**When **_he's sober is the risk, Annette." She pointed out, putting extra emphasis on the word 'when'. "Fleur says he runs a small private shop in Diagon Alley now, investigates issues of fidelity and petty theft primarily. Hardly the specialist we are looking for." She countered dismissively.

Annette waved her off. "That's only because there has been no need for a mercenary of late. He brought in Nott for the Lycan Genocide and has been bored stiff since. Warriors need to be challenged, Gabrielle!" Her great grandaunt stated earnestly. "Weren't you the one who always used to tell me that he had a knack for saving people?"

Gabrielle waved her off. "That was a long time ago." She started. "And so was the Nott thing. Fleur says Hermione has asked him to get help multiple times but he won't listen."

"Your sister is a bored gossip. Harry Potter has a desire and we are in a position to help."

Gabrielle sat silently for several moments. She wasn't going to win this fight so she may as well get it over with. "What do you need me to do?"

She was a veela. She knew the answer before Elder Monclair gave the order.

"Get close to him and offer him whatever he desires. Sleep with him if you think it will keep him motivated. But keep him sober and keep him focused."

Gabrielle resisted the eye roll. There were other ways to keep people motivated.

"I'll leave in the morning."

* * *

He shook his empty glass, the half-melted ice cubes clinking off the sides in an attempt to gain the attention of the wayward bartender.

His vain attempts failing, Harry leaned over the dirty counter, giving himself a good view of the long, dimly lit bar.

Down the line he spotted the object of his attention flirting with an attractive brunette, ready to give her a free pour the second the zinfandel drained from her glass.

"JEFFRIES!" He yelled shaking his glass overdramatically, drawing the ire of the other patrons.

He paid them no mind as he yelled again. "JEFFRIES!" The man's eyes narrowed but he had his attention at this point.

"Another old fashioned." He ordered. "And try and take it easy on the simple syrup this time."

The bartender eyed him with the slightest bit of apprehension. "No." The younger man said, a slight stammer in his voice. "Not until you settle your tab."

Eyeing a dirty blonde smoking a cigarette and chatting up a woman just outside the entrance he smiled. "Put it on the Bletchley tab."

Jeffries took a moment to look around the crowded bar, taking stock of her patrons.

"Do you think I'm stupid, Potter?" He said, a touch of anger in his voice.

"Honestly?" Harry replied, his attention firmly focused on a simmering argument between a handful of gentlemen over near the jukebox.

"Bletchley ain't even here, mate." He stated.

Harry rolled his eyes. "Why would Lisa be here Jeffries?" He asked rhetorically. "This place smells like piss."

Much to his chagrin off near the jukebox the argument seemed to be dissipating.

A subtle flick of his wrist sent a spell unnoticed towards the largest of the men, hitting him square in the back.

'_Push the small one.' _He commanded mentally.

"Lisa?" Jeffries asked with skepticism as a large crash momentarily drew his attention to the group of men arguing in the corner.

"Of course." He said while polishing off the rest of his drink as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. "She's the one who hired me."

The argument had dissolved into an outright brawl by this point as two men tackled a third into an innocent bystanders table, drawing four more people into the fight.

The bartender turned his attention back to the issue-at-hand, his brown eyes wide as saucers.

"Sonorus!" Jeffries shouted desperately as he touched his wand to his throat, a second fight between a group of hags breaking out to their right.

"STOP IT!" The bartender shouted among the growing chaos, his voice amplified by the spell. "PLEASE STOP FIGHTING!"

His plea fell on deaf ears as one of the hags threw another through a window while a third stabbed a woman in the neck with a fork, spraying blood on a suspiciously pale couple to their left who seemed rather delighted by the strange turn of events.

The act of destruction caused a swing in the bartender's mood.

"THAT'S IT, YOU'RE ALL BANNED!" He yelled menacingly as though anyone besides Harry was paying him any mind.

Jeffries proclamation predictably had no effect on the matter-at-hand as Harry sat back grinning, waiting for the inevitable.

Barely a half-minute went by before Jeffries cracked.

"Lord Potter!" The bartender pleaded.

'_It's Lord Potter now is it?'_

"Lord Potter!" He repeated desperately. "Please! Some help!"

He turned towards the lanky, pathetic man, an eyebrow raised and an arrogant smile on his lips.

"I'll tell ya what Jeffries!" He yelled over the commotion as a table went up in flames. "Call us even and I'll put an end to this little kerfuffle and clean the place up a bit." He said through the noise as the upturned table set the drapes on fire, sending the remainder of the bars occupants into a frenzy as they climbed over themselves to evacuate.

"DEAL!" The bartender yelled.

Harry gave the man an annoyed look as he conjured a plain red coaster.

"And there better be a fucking old fashioned sitting on this coaster when I'm done."

Spinning on his stool and away from the bar he silently doused the flames with water before indiscriminately firing off stunners towards the eight or so combatants who, in a moment of drunkenness, had thankfully forgotten they were wizards and were fighting with their fists.

One of the less-drunk brawlers dodged his stunner in a show of agility before returning fire his way.

Harry saw red as his attacker threw a familiar shade of maroon back his way.

His block of marble intercepted the unforgivable curse as his holly wand sliced downwards from left to right sending a pair of violent saw-like spells flying unpredictably towards the asshole, severing his legs from his torso and showering the immediate area in blood in a show of grotesque violence.

Around him the fighting immediately stopped, leaving the man howling in pain as he bled on the floor.

"Shut the fuck up." Harry mumbled, hitting the man with a silencer as his wand began waving in a complex pattern.

Slowly the room put itself back together as he turned to the silently wailing man's friend. "Get your friend and his legs out of here." He said, his slurred speech sounding more menacing to his own ears, he was sure.

Turning back to the bar he was pleased to see a fresh old fashioned on his conjured coaster and an amused look on his newly-arrived friends face.

Momentarily ignoring Miles, Harry returned his attention back to Jeffries, a contemplative look adorning his half-drunk features.

"JEFFRIES!" He barked, startling the nervous man who was busy checking the small bar for lasting damage.

The frazzled bartender turned to give him a look as Harry took a sip of the old fashioned sitting on his coaster.

'_Too heavy on the bitters this time.'_

"You're a shit bartender."

The crisp August night was a stark contrast to the stale humidity of the dingy bar, the fresh air filling him with a surge of energy as he and Miles stalked their way deeper into the excitement of Knockturn Alley towards the 'Lusty Leopard.'

His mind raced back to his first floo journey before his second year and ending up at Borgin and Burkes, much to the dismay of Molly Weasley. He'd been so scared then, so sheltered.

Only dark wizards wandered Knockturn Alley, after all.

Hanging a left, the pair were greeted with bright neon signs and the sounds of music and laughter as hundreds of intoxicated twenty-somethings loudly jumped from bar to bar in large groups.

If Diagon Alley was Oxford Street then Knockturn Alley was Soho - full of life, lights and sounds.

Rummaging in his pocket Harry pulled out a small vial that glowed blue in the midnight sky.

He noticed the dirty blonde next to him watch in amusement as he removed the stopper and downed the potion in one go before throwing the empty vial in a bin.

Bletchley whistled. "That's some glow!" The slightly shorter man stated, gesturing to his still glowing throat.

"It's some good shit." He managed by-way of response.

Harry stopped in his tracks for several seconds, his eyes shut tight – the first thirty seconds were always the best.

His body began to tingle while his head became light and a large smile slid across his face as he let out a jovial laugh.

Even so he felt his senses heightened, his mind focus, and his forehead perspire. Without a mirror it was hard to be certain, but Harry was sure his cheeks were unusually rosy as well.

He rummaged in his sack once more, removing a second vial and dangling it in front of Miles face.

The older man let out a sigh. "Fuck it." He said, taking the vial and handing him ten galleons.

The process was repeated with the former Slytherin keeper as the pair made their way through the crowds and down a side alley towards a solitary, vertical neon sign of an animated woman shadow dancing in the moonlight.

"Ya know I heard there's a nudie bar in Dublin that has a veela!" Miles said, the bit of giddiness in his voice a result of the blue coursing through his system.

He rolled his eyes as the bouncer let the pair through the entrance and into the dimly lit club.

"She has the aura but lacks the body we've come to expect from veela."

Veela could be fat, veela could be ugly, veela could be smart, and veela could be stupid. The interesting ones could wield magic, the rest were tedious creatures.

At the end of the day the only unique thing about the ancient sirens was their ability to manipulate men, and he had a book full of clients that argued the ability to manipulate men wasn't that unique.

Around him nude women were dancing on poles while love-struck saps leered at them from several meters away, placing coins on the stage for a little extra attention.

He pointed to the dark-skinned man reaching out towards Maria who, far from looking concerned at the fawning fool seemed to look amused rather than threatened.

Catching her eye the dancer spared him a smile before glancing quickly at the bar in reassurance.

"Emilio is working." Harry stated.

He could almost see the older bartender spiking the drinks with love potion from their corner booth.

They sat in silence for several long minutes, entranced by the intoxicating nature of the blue.

Across from him Miles' cheeks had turned a rosy read and he was sweating slightly. "So!" The other man started, an unnatural smile on his face.

"So!" Harry responded, undoubtedly wearing a similar look.

When Miles discovered Harry had been hired by the Economic Security Commission his friend had been giddy.

Harry reached deep into his coat before removing a medium sized manila envelope and setting it on the table.

With a goofy look still planted on his face Miles opened the envelope, removing several Euro's before getting started on his diagnostics charms.

The dawn of a new millennium had sparked a cultural revolution within the wizarding world as muggleborns surpassed purebloods as the dominant political force in Europe for the first time.

A few of the less morally inclined amongst them quickly came to the conclusion that the best way to thrive in the new world would be to exploit muggles.

Miles cast a quick 'gemino' charm on the currency. Seeing a duplication of the fifty euro note appear next to the original caused the man to let out a high-pitched, joyful cry.

Harry waited patiently as the man repeated the actions on the remainder of the bills before slipping him a shrunken purse.

The blending of the cultures had presented unique legal issues as wizards, in increasing numbers, began counterfeiting muggle currency and trading it in for galleons, destroying the economy in the process.

The Economic Security Commission had been Hermione's most important legislative victory during her brief time in the Wizengamot.

Hermione the bleeding heart; protector of muggles, muggleborns, and creatures alike found her biggest legislative victory had been economic and not focused on equality.

The world was funny like that sometimes.

Casting a few charms on the purse, Harry confirmed that twenty five thousand galleons were there before taking his wand off of Miles from beneath the table.

"I have another client who would be interested in a packet, if you can oblige."

Harry shook his head in dismay. "That's the last of it." He had only been able to syphon so much under the watchful eyes of the muggles and the ICW.

Part of him was relieved to be out of the game. The penalties for being caught were severe while the return had diminished since the goblins had stopped taking muggle currency. Unless you wanted a penthouse in muggle London the bills were technically worthless.

"Oh well." Miles said with a shrug. "It was fun while it lasted. Let's get a drink."

Abandoning their table the pair made their way to the bar.

"Hey Emilio!" He shouted towards the severe looking man with wary eyes. "A bottle of firewhiskey no extras!"

The bartender laughed but obliged, handing the pair a large bottle of whisky and a pair of glasses.

Miles paid the man before they sauntered towards an empty high-top near the main stage.

The unnamed girl twirled around the pole to the rhythm of the music as they drank, the combination of the harsh liquor and the blue filling him with a sense of forgetful euphoria.

They laughed as they drew the tables next to them into the conversation, forming a larger group.

Soon Harry felt a soft palm drawing him over to a dance floor filled with people and he found himself wondering when the 'Lusty Leopard' installed a dance floor before a plethora of bright lights and screaming drew his attention to the stage in front of him.

Green and red lights cut through the thick fog surrounding the stage as the light shimmered off the DJ's glasses as he bounced to the beat, occasionally encouraging the crowd to scream in unison.

He felt the unnamed woman grind against his crotch, eliciting a moan of arousal from his lips and making him forget about the strip club completely.

His moan caused her to tilt her head back till her blue eyes were staring straight up at his face, sweat dripping down her own face she leaned back further, his mouth meeting her half-way.

Wet lips attached to a head of blonde hair pressed against his as the room around Harry spun wildly.

They twirled around the room attached at the lips, his anonymous partner's blonde hair and blue eyes seeming to flicker between blonde and blue and red and brown in the moment.

Then it stopped and Harry felt hard ground and heard roaring laughter.

"Alright Potter, just a little further." Miles familiar voice echoed deep within his subconscious.

"You know we could rob him right now." A different voice stated in amusement.

He shook free of the arms keeping him steady and stumbled into the side of a dumpster, wand in hand.

"Don't you fuckin think about it asshole." He swayed as he slurred, using the edge of the dumpster to keep him upright.

"I may be drunk but I can still kick your ass!"

A pair of laughter rang out again as they moved from Knockturn Alley and into the quieter confines of Diagon Alley.

"Ya need help gettin in, Potter?" Miles familiar voice asked as he unlocked the door to his shop.

"Imma be okay." He mumbled, stumbling his way inside.

Shutting one eye Harry took stock of the stairs in front of him as he swayed in place, considering his options for a brief moment before stumbling over to his desk, climbing on top, and promptly passing out.

* * *

He was awoken by a strong stinging sensation in his lower ribs.

"W…whaat?" He said groggily, his bloodshot eyes adjusted to his hazy surroundings, the glare from the sunlight sending a pain shooting through his head.

He felt the hard wood supporting his back and a glance to his left showed his comfortable desk chair had been haphazardly thrown on its side next to his desk.

The pounding in his head prevented him from forming a rational thought as he slowly sat up.

'_Or it's the veela standing in my shop.' _He added silently, clamping down on his occlumency.

"Good." The familiar voice stated. "You're awake."

He groaned. It wasn't just the veela making him groggy.

Feeling a rumbling in his stomach he turned to the left and emptied its contents on the oak floor.

"Stupide ivre." The veela grumbled as he vanished the contents of last night from the ground.

"Va te faire foutre." He spat back, summoning a disgusting looking yellow potion to him and downing it in one.

The veela laughed at his response but said nothing.

He felt the discomfort in his head and stomach dissipate almost instantaneously once the potion hit his lips.

'_Whoever invented the hangover potion deserves an Order of Merlin.' _

"What do you want…" He started, taking a look at his visitor for the first time.

Honey blonde hair, blue eyes, completely symmetrical features and a look that screamed "get the fuck away from me" told him all he needed to know.

"…Gabrielle."

The girl he _rescued _from the bottom of the lake during the Triwizard Tournament had grown quite beautiful since then. The lack of a ring on her finger made him think of the crush she used to harbor for him.

A mischievous grin inadvertently crossed his face. She still had that crush last time they'd met.

'_Ginny was still around then…' _He reminded himself, the grin on his face being replaced by a creeping sadness.

She stared at him unimpressed.

"Long night?" She said, ignoring his question and making herself comfortable in one of his spare chairs.

With a quick flick she had summoned a pair of iced coffees from the unseen icebox under the stairs and was passing one his way before he had a chance to wonder how she knew about its existence.

Accepting the drink he got off his desk, fixed his chair, and sat down across from the intimidating young woman.

"I'm sorry about the mess and my appearance." He apologized, taking a long sip of his coffee before continuing. "Met up with some friends and had a long night." He said sheepishly.

Gabrielle looked unconvinced but didn't press the issue.

"Thank you for seeing me so early." She said graciously seemingly forgetting the previous two minutes in an instant.

Harry did his best to ignore the fact that she had broken into his shop and was trespassing on private property.

"Thank you for making the trip all the way from…"

"…the reservation." She finished for him.

"Yes." He replied lamely. "Though I seem to have forgotten how I can help you?"

There were no tan lines on her ring finger so he knew it couldn't be a case of infidelity and he highly doubted she needed personal security, Beauxbaton's postgraduate studies and her own mentor would have made sure she could watch over herself.

"I am here on behalf of my species." She started, a tinge of pride evident in her voice.

'_The Zekanot then. Interesting.' _The possibilities swirled in his mind. The vulnerable creatures always seemed to find themselves in some sort of trouble.

He ignored the rumbling in his stomach for the time being and turned his fleeting attention back to the annoyance in front of him.

"What does Elder Monclair want?" He had never been one for idle conversation, no matter how beautiful the company.

Gabrielle offered him a charming smile.

"Are you kept abreast of veela issues?" She asked, clearly looking for a proper starting point for whatever story he assumed she had to tell.

Harry had insight into vampires, lycans, hags, trolls, and even those disgusting little goblins from time to time, but outside of running into Fleur at the Burrow on occasion he had had very little contact with veela.

"Not so much, no." He replied honestly. "Britain isn't known for its thriving veela population."

A look of grief mixed with a tinge of disgust passed over her before a familiar sense of vulnerability settled. "The veela have never had a thriving population, 'Arry."

They both knew the accent was bullshit, yet in the moment he found himself shuddering slightly.

A victorious smile highlighted her perfect face.

'_Damn.' _He thought to himself. She had him and she knew it.

"No." He replied trying to take back control of the conversation. "They have not."

His mind turned towards a report he had seen on Hermione's home desk a month or so prior and did some quick mental work.

"I guess you know better than anyone how little help the ICW can be."

Harry pushed back from his desk and stood up, across from him Gabrielle mimicked his actions.

He leaned over his desk until his eyes were even with hers. "How many have gone missing now, Gabrielle?"

A brief look of surprise flashed across her face before she recovered. She wanted to know how he knew, but that question would give him the upper hand.

Instead she maintained control.

"With the two that went missing yesterday?" She said, emotion pouring from her lips. "Two dozen."

Subconsciously he reached out with a bit of legilimency only to be met with an impressive bit of occlumency.

"I will not lie to you Harry Potter." Her soft voice carried a bit of desperation as she spoke. "You have no need for using the mind arts on me." Her tone was kind. "Will you help us?"

Years ago the negotiation never would have gotten to this point. At twenty he would already be in Central Europe hunting leads. He and Ginny gallivanting across Slovakia fighting for the feeling of accomplishment that would come with helping the downtrodden.

He didn't respond immediately, taking a moment to compose himself.

"What do I get out of this?"

The desire to help hadn't completely changed, but his desire for compensation had.

He tried to sound indifferent but wasn't sure he succeeded.

She raised an eyebrow. "You're normal rate plus the chance to piss off the ICW." She said resolutely.

He scoffed. "That's hardly worth the effort. Even if it keeps me occupied for weeks it would be more dangerous than trying to figure out who's playing stuff the sausage with Corner's wife. There's dozens of simpler cases that can occupy my time."

As if to exemplify his point he reached into his desk and pulled out a folder brimming with inquiries.

Gabrielle sat in quiet contemplation for several seconds.

"Your issues with the goblins." The blonde beauty replied.

The statement peaked his interest as she threw a large folder on his desk.

"What about them?" Harry tried to keep the desperation out of his voice – even with his moderate savings from the muggle notes he still didn't have the same resources available to him as his vaults at Gringotts.

"The goblins have a blood pact with the Zekanot. Help us and we'll have your blood-bounty removed and get you access to your vaults."

A tinge of hope piqued inside of him. Blood pacts had no expiration date and they had no terms. They were good for a single request that required no explanation.

As if to put an exclamation point on the meeting Gabrielle reached into her purse and placed a sack of coins on his desk.

"This should be enough to get you started. Bring the perpetrators to justice and we will use our pact to help you with the goblins."

He smiled a genuine smile. "You have a deal, Ms. Delacour."

* * *

**A/N: **All translations in this and future chapters are courtesy of .com. I speak English and English only ('Merica English at that not even that cool British English).


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: **I don't own HP

**AN: **Thank you for the overwhelmingly positive response to chapter one. It's been so well received I've decided to post chapter 2. Enjoy!

* * *

He watched her hips sway as she left his little shop in Diagon Alley. Waiting till the door was closed before wandlessly summoning a rainbow in a vial, snatching it out of the air and downing it in one Harry savored the strong cotton candy taste while waiting for "The Wine of Dionysus" to work it's magic.

He felt his mood begin to rise as the lingering effects of his hangover were pushed to the back of his mind to be replaced with a sense of euphoria.

The potent potion provided the user with an uplifting energy for several hours and was popular at Knockturn Alley's massive nightclubs.

The thought of the brightly lit epicenter brought forth memories of the night before.

Laughing at the Lusty Leopard.

Being dragged onto the dancefloor at Oz.

Making out with the birthday girl.

He grinned wryly before it gave way to a pondering smile – if he was dancing with the birthday girl, why was he alone?

Those thoughts quickly left his mind as he hopped his way up the stairs and to his apartment above the shop, humming a jig he picked up in Cork back while he was still with the Warlock's.

His humming gave way to dancing as he stripped away his clothes and cleaned his teeth.

Standing naked on his bed he bounced around to his own beat, twirling about as he danced.

Harry flicked his wand at his wireless, bringing the humming to life and filling the spacious apartment with the enchanting sound of an Irish fiddle.

He jumped off his bed, landing with a loud thud on the wooden floor, his feet still tapping as he threw on a simple gray tee shirt.

Harry spun and jumped once more, this time trying to simultaneously land both legs in a pair of plain blue jeans floating about waist high in front of him.

He laughed even as he fell, his legs tangled in a mess of fabric on the floor.

The music stopped and he calmly lifted himself off the ground and finished getting dressed, a boyish grin still on his chiseled face.

He was still humming as he put on a pair of leather boots and grabbed the veela coin off the countertop of his shop before making his way to the Leaky Cauldron.

"Tommy boy!" He greeted the large barkeep enthusiastically as he entered the pub five minutes later, drawing the ire of the smattering of patrons.

"Lord Potter." He responded solemnly as he tried to suppress his chuckle with a bow.

"I come bearing gifts!" Harry said excitedly, reaching into the sack of coins and handing the man twenty five of them. "Sorry about last week, mate." He said sheepishly.

He really was sorry. He never should have come to the Cauldron after playing poker all night, he had been bound to cause some damage.

"Hopefully this covers it." He continued by way of apology. "As well as a full English breakfast and a pint of Guinness."

Tom had maintained the Cauldron for over five decades and seen it all, he doubted his apology was all that necessary but Harry felt it was needed. The man that helped Hagrid guide him into Diagon Alley unmolested deserved his gratitude.

"Aye, Harry. It was the most entertaining breakfast I'd seen in a while."

Harry shook his head and tried to force an apologetic look on his face but Dionysus just wouldn't allow it.

"Someday, maybe not soon, but someday that kid is going to have one hell of a story to tell about his tenth birthday."

Tom laughed wholeheartedly as he handed Harry his pint. "That or ya've scarred him fer life."

Harry joined him in his laughter, taking the pint and finding his way to his usual spot in the corner.

Downing half of the thick muggle stout in one go he let out a loud belch, once more drawing looks of disdain from the other diners.

Harry shrugged it off before grabbing the plain manila envelope Gabrielle had handed him on her way out.

Veela had never been his specialty, most of his experience with creatures lay with werewolves and vampires, creatures that had proven a threat to society at some point in time during his life.

The veela didn't fall into that category, whether it was by choice or due to biology he did not know.

There were no male veela. A male child born to a veela mother inherited mostly his father's genetics, though the necessary gene remained dormant within them.

There had been cases of veela being born between a male carrier and a normal female, in which case the vast resources of the Zekanot would become available to the veela child as she began her journey. In the rare cases of abandonment, the closest flock geographically would be responsible for the child until she could take care of herself.

In cases where there are no abandonment concerns, the geographically closest flock would send representatives – normally a junior member of the council to meet with the affected families. He wondered if Gabrielle had had that honor yet.

Finishing off his bangers, Harry turned to his eggs while eyeing the first page of the dossier listing the victims in order starting with Harriet Meyers and ending with Marissa and Tara Cross.

Pushing aside his empty plate he conjured a map of Europe and spread it across the table.

As he read the details of each case he marked where and when each victim disappeared.

'_Margaret Monet, 18/08/2006 - Monaco'_

'_Jaleena Laine, 23/11/2006 - Rome'_

'_Harriet Meyers, 05/02/2006 - Brighton'_

'_Claudette Sinclair, 14/05/2008 - Prague'_

'_Marissa and Tara Cross, 12/08/2008 - Cannes'_

As the names went on a picture was beginning to form in his mind. With the exception of Harriet Meyers in Brighton all twenty four veela were taken from busy European cities every three months.

Moreover all were under the age of twenty three with the youngest, Tara, being only eight; and they were beautiful, even by veela standards, yet with the exception of Laine, who _married _into wealth, none of the victims were from the upper echelons of society.

These veela represented a specific niche within a small species. Whoever was taking them were organized, and confident, '_and connected,' _enough to research individual veela until they found a suitable target.

A theory of what was happening to these women was beginning to form in his head and he didn't like the conclusion he was coming to. Young, single, attractive, unimportant veela going missing at regular intervals painted a grim fate.

Eight of them lived on the same reservation.

Dionysus overpowered the gruesome realization when he saw where that reservation was and he let out a delighted laugh: Menton.

* * *

"Gabrielle!" The pleasant voice of Astoria Malfoy greeted as the pair gave each other an exceptionally gentle, society-appropriate hug before settling into their choice table overlooking Memorial Park on Diagon Alley's Upper East Side.

"I'm so glad you could make it on such short notice!" She responded, hopefully with near-equal enthusiasm. She couldn't hope to match the degrees of Lady Malfoy, who was capable of wearing the title as though she had been born for it.

There was a typical cadence at these sort of things. One designed so the less ambitious socialite's could act properly in society without offending their peers and embarrassing themselves, while the more ambitious Lady's-to-be used the opportunities for clumsy attempts at seduction and being important.

"How is Elder Monclair?"

Gabrielle smiled. "In good health and as spirited as ever. She has been spending more time in Dubrovnik recently. How is Scorpius? Preparing for his third birthday, correct?"

Astoria frowned at the vague answer but her dark red lips broke into a smile and her brown eyes sparkled at the mention of her son.

"Oh yes! How kind of you to remember!"

Gabrielle flashed her a warm smile, forcing some color into her cheeks. "It's hard to forget. Last I saw him he had just turned one and was already floating about the room!"

Lady Malfoy mistook her laughter for fondness. "You and Elder Monclair must make it out for his birthday at the end of the month!"

Everyone wanted a bit of the High Council's time. While not particularly important in a political sense, the popularity of Granger-Weasley had made _creatures _in vogue among those who wanted to appear to be progressive. Having Elder Monclair at your son's third birthday party may land you on the cover of the Prophet's Sunday periodical. Forget their access to knowledge, two thousand years' worth of unspoiled wealth, and unique culture, it was their lack of _humanity _they found interesting.

Their resources made their lack of political influence an embarrassment by comparison.

That was the argument a young Annette Delacour had used to rise to the top of her flock forty years ago, it was the same argument she used ten years later to win a leadership position on the High Council, and it was the argument she had used a third time when she sought to lead their people.

A non-voting seat on the ICW simultaneously recognized the exceptionalism of her kind while insulting them with a lesser designation.

They were a _**less intelligent **_species in the eyes of man, and it was that arrogance that would ultimately be man's downfall.

Still progress was progress. They'd be a voting member soon enough, if she was successful in her post.

Officially Malfoy Enterprises financed business projects in exchange for equity. Unofficially they trafficked illegal potions ingredients, counterfeit muggle notes, and operated illegal casinos across Britain and the greater continent.

Their business dealings, at bare minimum made them a vital source of information.

"Send us a formal invitation and we will make the time if we can, Elder Monclair has been busy with the slew of veela disappearances of late."

She watched as Astoria brushed a strand of brown hair frown her pretty face, covering her mouth daintily, providing a passable amount of sympathy.

"It's terrible what's happening to your people."

Gabrielle shielded her surprise. She hadn't expected Astoria Malfoy to know a thing about veela.

'_People keep saying that, but they never help.'_

"My husband was telling me about your speech the other day at the ICW. It's horrible that they won't help people like you."

'_How would he know? Draco's friend walked out of my speech less than a minute in!'_

Gabrielle nearly laughed. Lady Malfoy thought she was so kind, so caring.

"It's an absolute shame what happened to Jaleena." Astoria continued. "You know I knew her personally? Such a sweet young woman."

Gabrielle hid her surprise. She did not know that the newly minted Princess had known Lady Malfoy. Jaleena had been a cosmetician before Valtteri had wandered into her little shop. Far from the view of someone of Astoria's stature.

"I wasn't aware you two new each other." She responded inquisitively.

"Oh yes." Lady Malfoy began airily. "Jaleena was pen pals with Evelyn Parkinson, a close friend of mine." She continued. "You know we had lunch in Milan only three days before… well you know." She finished lamely.

Gabrielle looked at her lunch date. "Astoria." She began with a bit of charm. "You're one of the most intuitive people I know. What do you think happened to your friend?"

Astoria Malfoy was hardly the most intuitive person she knew but that was beside the point. She claimed to have information on one of the more baffling disappearances.

Astoria stared at her solemnly "With any luck she's dead." She said with absolution. "Anything is better than being sold like cattle."

The statement caught her off guard. "What are you talking about?"

The newly married Jaleena Laine had disappeared on or around 23/11/2006 in Rome. That was the extent of their knowledge on victim number three.

Lady Malfoy gave her a baffled look. "My husband says she was snatched up near an alley in Rome by human traffickers. Did you not know that?"

A thousand questions sprung into her mind but she bit her tongue. Astoria wouldn't be able to answer any of them.

"Of course we did, I had just thought it to be privileged information."

Their food arrived and the conversation shifted back to Scorpius and his toy broom, her mind never far from Jaleena.

Human trafficking had always been a consideration and the victimology suggested they were hunting attractive, low risk veela. She didn't need Harry for that.

She humbly let Lady Malfoy foot the bill for lunch as they said their goodbyes, taking several steps in the opposite direction before turning back towards the departing Lady as an afterthought.

"Lady Malfoy!" She beckoned respectfully.

The other woman turned to face her as she reached the doorway, a smile on her regal features.

"Would I be able to bring my boyfriend to young Scorpius's birthday party?"

* * *

The perle de la France was beautiful this time of year.

Situated on the Mediterranean Sea and nestled between France and Italy sat Menton, an interesting enclave known for its gardens, abundance of citrus trees, and hospitable climate that had become a little hotbed for tourism in recent years, much to the dismay of the areas less human inhabitants.

Harry walked the narrow streets, expertly dodging traffic as he climbed his way higher into the mountains surrounding the blue sea.

Around him muggles chatted animatedly in a strange bastardization of French and Italian as they shopped and ate underneath large canopies protecting them from the sun.

"Lucky bastards" he grumbled to himself in jealousy, beating himself up for not thinking to cast a cooling charm on himself.

Stepping into a quiet alley and behind a trash can Harry removed the wand from his wrist and quickly cast several charms to keep him cool before continuing his ascent towards his final destination.

Reaching the top of the hill Harry felt the tingle of wards recognize him - a courtesy provided to him by Elder Monclair - revealing a magnificent fountain and several large stucco structures with sloping roofs covered in tiles.

There was no rhyme or reason to the layout of the reservation. Rather the structures appeared to be built wherever was most convenient for nature, leaving large green areas covered in orange and lemon trees, many with topless veela sunbathing beneath them.

Heaven, he snorted, the reference harkening back to his annual trips to church with the Dursleys, was located behind a deadly layer of security wards outside Menton proper.

Most of the structures were two stories, two units to a story with large balconies hanging off the back.

Orphans, the unmarried, and single mothers. That was the bulk of the residency in this proverbial Garden of Eden and thus they lived four families to a structure.

The structures that weren't residential were rather boring in nature; a library, a courthouse, an open air market. All were separated into zones to cut down on confusion.

Passing into zone four he felt a large tug on his mind.

He beat the anxiety and forced himself to remain calm as he shut his eyes and took several calming breaths, he didn't like people making attempts on his mind. The feeling of an intrusion, he figured, would always trigger anxiety.

Across the path four young veela were giggling madly as he flipped them the bird.

"Fuck off ya cunts!" He growled, drawing looks from several veela in the surrounding area as the young group ran off giggling.

Their aura was completely controllable. The only reason he would feel a tug is if the mindless tarts meant to control him.

Region four. Building three. Unit two.

An upper right unit with a large balcony overlooking a lush garden with a park not too far off in the distance.

Ascending the steps Harry whipped out a metal key and opened the door.

The home was nothing special. A small two bedroom unit with a single bathroom, small living room and an even smaller kitchen. Through a large door near the back, he could see a spacious balcony with a healthy herb garden covering the majority of it.

Silently he made his way towards Tara's room first, pessimistic about his chances of finding anything useful to the investigation.

Drawings covered every portion of the orderly room while a small tea-set in the right corner had a quartette of dolls holding small porcelain cups that he'd bet his savings came to life if he tapped the small runes near their left ear.

To the left of the twin-size bed sat several stuffed bears and unicorns atop a plain wooden dresser. Beside the dresser sat a dusty clarinet and a pair of sparsely used music books.

The child was average in every way.

Still, he removed a small camera from his pocket and snapped a few pictures before whispering some descriptions into a recorder for future reference.

Working his way from Tara's room through the narrow hallway connecting the two rooms he popped his head into the bath and snapped a few more pictures before moving on to the master suite.

Like her daughter Marissa appeared to be exceptionally neat. A tidy bed flanked on either side by dressers – one with pictures of Tara the other a half-read romance novel - was the centerpiece of the room.

Aside from that, the room, and townhome as a whole, held nothing of interest to the investigation.

Yet the box had to be checked, empirical evidence suggested that the people who were the biggest threat to your own well-being were friends, family, and acquaintances.

"Speaking of…" He muttered to himself, recognizing a pair of veela from the dossier milling about across the street at the park.

Plastering a smile on his face Harry made his way to the park.

Veela were naturally suspicious creatures. Abilities aside they had the proclivity to be striking, though with beauty came unwanted attention. Through the centuries that attention forced the veela onto reservations leaving them with a predisposition towards distrusting men.

His badge and signed decree from Elder Monclair in hand with his hands held above his head he called out to the veela.

"Excuse me!" He said calmly, drawing their attention.

The pair stared at him in distrust, the one with white hair - Melanie - tightly gripping a bottle of pepper spray while her black haired friend took a small step backwards and into his path, putting herself between Harry and the children.

"I'm not here to cause harm." He said soothingly. Privately he wondered if there was anything they could realistically do to him if he were trying to harm the children.

"Elder Monclair has hired me to investigate the disappearance of Melissa and Tara." He finished as he set his badge on the path in front of him and backed away.

The two veela looked at each other momentarily before Melanie, knuckles white from clutching the pepper spray, stepped forward to inspect his credentials.

The silence was uncomfortable for several long moments while the paralegal read in silence before nodding in affirmation and visibly relaxed.

"Forgive me Monsieur Potter." She said much more informally than before. "We are not used to outsiders here and with what has been happening…" she said trailing off and going silent.

I understand." He replied in what he prayed was a soothing tone. "How well did the two of you know Marissa and Tara?"

Tristan brushed a strand of black hair from her heart-shaped face and smiled sadly. "Marissa was a loner, if it weren't for Tara I doubt she would have left the reservation."

"Why do you say that?" He asked.

The two shared another look, but it was Melanie who responded.

"Marissa wasn't born to a veela mother." She began while Tristan stood back to him as she watched the children play. "Her father was the orphan of a veela, he never knew his heritage."

He sat in thought for several long moments. "Is that some sort of taboo on the reservation?"

The veela shared another glance, but it was Tristan that spoke. "They're just at a disadvantage, that's all." She began. "We grew up knowing we were veela, we had time to prepare, we were insulated and raised among other veela. As children we hate the insulation, but as adults we realize what a blessing it is to not have to deal with the stares of men and the leers of women."

Harry suddenly felt an odd kinship with the latest victim. "When did she join you at the reservation?"

Melanie frowned. "She started presenting signs during her first year at Christmas she was an orphan. She dropped out midway through third year."

He nodded along – he imagined more than a few veela on the reservation had similar stories to tell.

"The Delacour family took her in." Melanie continued.

Huh. It's funny how Gabrielle neglected to bring that factoid up when she bombarded him yesterday morning.

"Gabrielle didn't mention that." He said, giving voice to his thoughts.

Melanie nodded in understanding, her hair dancing in the wind, a perfectly coordinated mess. Not all veela were beautiful, but the ones that were tended to be frighteningly so.

"Ambassador Delacour and Marissa were friendly, but never close. She is, however, very close with Fleur Weasley."

He thought on that for several seconds. Interviewing Fleur would be no issue, unless she forced him to sit through another horrendous meal.

"What about the two of you? Why would Ambassador Delacour point me your way?"

Melanie briefly glanced over her shoulder to Tristan and the two little girls chasing each other through the park, a content smile on her face.

"Our daughters are best friends." She began. "On the day she disappeared, we were supposed to head to Cannes together but Elisa was sick and Tristan was too busy with work to take Clara."

The revelation made him question his earlier assumption that Marissa and Tara were singled out.

"Did you cancel plans last minute?"

Melanie shook her head. "Tristan and Clara cancelled earlier in the week, Elisa and I cancelled that morning."

Harry sat quietly for several moments. It's possible, if not unlikely, that the potential kidnappers knew the veela were going to be short-handed.

"Do you find it odd that Marissa would take Tara to Cannes alone?"

Melanie smiled faintly and shook her head. "Marissa was trying to raise Tara not to live in fear."

His respect for the latest set of victims rose. Living in fear is no life at all.

"Take me through a normal outing. What do you do? Is it spontaneous? Planned?"

The tall woman laughed harmoniously. "It is all rather monotonous if you ask me."

Whether aware of it or not Melanie started counting off activities on her fingers like they were potions ingredients.

"We arrive in the morning, early enough for waffles and berries at the café around the corner from our favorite beach. After that we browse the shops till lunch. Lunch is at a kabob cart run by a man named Aderfi followed by an afternoon at the beach."

"How often do you do this trip?" He needed to know if there was a cadence to their outings that made them more predictable.

"Every-other week when the weather is nice. In the winter we go maybe once a month."

He nodded thoughtfully as he finished up his notes and offered the veela a warm smile. "Thank you."

She gave him a radiant smile of her own. "While your reputation, monsieur Potter, among the goblins remains horrendous." She said seductively, taking him by the hand and leaning in close. "Among the veela you remain a very desirable mate."

He smiled coyly. "I'll remember that, Melanie." He replied with a smile and a wink before turning on his heel and walking away.

"_Always leave her wanting more." _That's what Ron, his socially inept best friend who married the first person he shagged always said.

As he walked away his mind drifted back to the trips the veela would take; "_every other week… breakfast, shopping, lunch, beach."_

The routine was predictable and easy to memorize. If they had been watched by their abductors then they would have been easy to follow – even tempering their aura six veela in muggle Cannes would stick out like a sore thumb.

It was the abduction itself that made no sense. Did they intend to kidnap all six veela? Or did they simply see an easy target and decide to act?

The first possibility seemed unlikely. Abducting a pair of women in broad daylight is hard enough, abducting six simultaneously would have been near impossible.

"Oy! Potter!" The voice shook him from his thoughts, drawing his attention to a mountain of a man. Standing six-feet five inches and nearly sixteen stone, Oliver Wood cut an imposing figure.

"You lanky bastard! What are ya doin here?" He said as the walking oak tree engulfed him in a bone-crushing hug.

"Trying not to suffocate to death." He choked out as he made an attempt to wrestle free of Captain England's strong embrace.

Oliver released him, giving him a sheepish smile. "Sorry about that, mate, but I haven't seen ya in a while and you know how I get."

He did. Oliver had always been a hugger.

"I'm working, Ollie. How are you here?"

He knew the _why, _of course. What man wouldn't want to spend the day here? The how, that was another thing entirely.

"My wife, of course!" He said giddily, pointing to an olive skinned Italian woman with thick dark hair extending to the small of her back, sporting a perfect figure talking to another veela, who looked like a pig by comparison, a few meters away.

'_Of course.' _He chided himself. How could he possibly forget the enchanting Azzurra Demonico?

Seeming to sense that she was being talked about, the beautiful woman sauntered over to her husband, greeting him with a peck on the lips.

"Harry Potter, meet my wife Azzurra." He smiled at the beautiful veela. "It's wonderful to meet you Miss Demonico." He greeted, gently touching his lips to her knuckles.

She stared at him calmly. "It's Wood. Demonico is my professional name." She stated pointedly by way of introduction.

'_Yikes.'_

"What are you doing here, Mr. Potter?"

He resisted the urge to roll his eyes. "Elder Monclair has asked me to investigate the disappearance of two dozen veela."

In front of him Oliver shifted uncomfortably while Azzurra's body language changed in an instant. "It's two dozen now?" She said softly, gazing into his eyes, the picture of perfection.

There were Lord's all over Europe who would pay thousands of galleons to have Azzurra Demonico stare at them the way she was staring at him now.

"Who are the latest victims?"

Harry broke eye contact, doing his best to focus on the conversation at hand. "Marissa and Tara Cross."

She raised a well-manicured hand to her mouth daintily.

"Did you know them?" He inquired.

She nodded solemnly. "Only in passing."

Not getting the hint he inquired further. "How?"

"I teach a spin class on Saturday mornings." She said bluntly. "Most of the victims attended it, actually." She sounded as though the thought had just occurred to her.

"How many would you say were in your class?"

Next to her Oliver seemed uncomfortable by the turn in the conversation and he couldn't blame him, there were only so many reasons people would kidnap a veela.

Azzurra thought for several long moments. "Marissa, Margaret, Jaleena." She started before pausing. "Clair, Jackie, and Solange. Then there's Jaleena, who worked on my cosmetics team."

Seven, eight if you count Tara, of the victims were regularly interacting with Azzurra Wood?

"Do you find that unusual?"

Oliver seemed to anger a bit at his insinuation so he clarified. "I'm asking for your opinion as a veela not because I think you had something to do with the crimes."

'_Although someone in your class may.'_

Could it be an inside job? Was there really a veela that vindictive, that hateful?

She shook her head. "No. This is a rather small community, even if I don't know someone personally I know someone who knows that someone, ya know?"

It took him a minute to wrap his head around what she was trying to say but when he did he frowned – the reservation in Menton wasn't _that _small. There were over twenty-five-hundred veela who lived here full-time and another five hundred or so that visited regularly. So he didn't know. At least not really.

Instead, he smiled and nodded his head. "I completely understand. Could I get a copy of the veela who attend your spin class?"

She sucked her teeth and frowned. "I don't think I can do that. The veela who attend my class count on me to protect their privacy."

Look at the supermodel trying to play barrister.

'_It's a fucking spin class not the ward scheme to the damn reservation.'_

"I completely understand." He said as he wrapped up the conversation.

'_I'll just have Gabby get it.' _He thought with a smile, happy to have an excuse to seek out the attractive young ambassador.

* * *

"Oy Potter!" A thick Irish accent yelled from the doorway.

'_What the fuck is up with my former housemates today?' _He thought, turning his attention to the lanky, messy-haired Irishmen who had beckoned him.

"How've ya been, mate?" He asked jovially, handing Seamus a small glass of something amber.

The drunk downed it in one before turning to the bartender. "Another one over here, Igor!" Seamus yelled, a perpetual laugh present in his voice.

"Fuck off, Finnegan." Jeffries said half-heartedly. Still the younger man slid him another glass of amber.

Seamus repeated the process a second time before turning his attention back to the bartender.

"He looks like a proper piece of ass now, don't he Harry? With his hair in that faggy lookin' bun?"

Harry turned to the bartender with mischief in his eyes, pretending to give Jeffries a once over.

"It goes well with his pierced ears." He replied thoughtfully. "How much for the night?"

"That'll be three galleons, Finnegan." Jeffries said.

The bartender may have ignored Harry's comment, but Seamus sure hadn't. "Really mate? That's it? Where's your pride?" He said with a laugh, handing the man three galleons and several sickles.

"And don't you dare say 'in my work'" Harry chimed in as the entire area erupted in laughter.

"I'll be seein' ya later Jeffries about that tug!" Seamus yelled at the bartenders retreating form as he grabbed his crotch, earning another bout of laughter from the peanut gallery.

A smile on his face Harry turned back to his old dorm mate. "You'll never believe who I ran into today!" Harry said excitedly, the effects of the blue finally beginning to kick in.

An inquisitive look passed over Seamus's face. "Who?"

"I'll give you a hint: Hermione had to tell Ron to take his poster out of their room."

A look of recognition crossed the Irishman's face. "How is ol' Ollie doin' these days?"

"Better on the ground than in the air." He replied thinking back to the recent World Cup where the two-time defending champs failed to make it past group play.

"Fair enough." Seamus said with a chuckle. "Was he with that bird of his?"

It was his turn to chuckle at Seamus's bad joke. "Azzurra was there." He thought back to the moment they shared in Menton. "And yes, she's just as stunning in person."

Seamus smiled. "I bet she is." He said. "You wanna know who else is stunning? The broad _I _ran into this week."

Harry raised an eyebrow and waited.

Seamus frowned when he didn't say anything after several seconds. "I'll give you a hint. She's banging one of our old rivals…. well two of our old rivals, actually."

"How is Lavender these days?" He asked before following up with. "Who's the second rival?"

"That's actually the bit of news." Seamus said with a smile. "The Malfoy's."

He laughed. "Draco used to hate that bint." He said before his voice trailed off.

"Wait… _**Malfoy's?**_ As in…"

"Ummhmm." Seamus replied.

"Do they know about each other?" He asked.

"Nope." Seamus finished smugly.

"Huh." Was his dignified response. "Do you think she'd part with the memory?"

Seamus slammed his pint of Guinness on the bar, drawing the attention of those around him.

"Harry you dog!" The messy-haired brunette said loudly. "I always knew you had a fascination with Draco, but this is a bit far, don't you think?"

Instead of laughing he rolled his eyes. "Not _that _memory. You idiot."

The pair laughed as Harry ordered another round of shots, his mind turning back to the bit of information Seamus had just fed him. If he _had_ to place a bet on who was responsible for the missing veela he'd put it on Draco.

"Could a company so focused on family values survive such a scandal?" He asked Seamus, causing the pair to let out another chorus of laughter.

Draco, like his father, had a penchant for making money. It turned out the little idiot had an ability for contract negotiation, in both his legal and illegal dealings.

"Though these days I'd say he's more Hermione's rival than my own."

Seamus nodded. "Is he still fighting the new ingredients regulations?"

"Tooth and nail."

Seamus nodded again.

"Listen, Harry." Seamus started as Harry's foot began to tap incessantly, the blue really beginning to kick in in earnest. "I got someone looking for a Hippogriff colt. He's not picky on the particular breed as long as it isn't an Athenian Stomper. Is that something you have a contact for?"

Harry's mind shifted to Charlie Weasley and he smiled. "For the cost plus ten percent."

"Deal." Seamus said greedily. "Now let's get you a hooker to celebrate!"

* * *

He stood motionlessly on the stoop in front of a rich red door with a shiny golden doorknob and matching knocker at the corner of Anderson and Kings Road for a long moment, composing himself for the impending onslaught.

Using the knocker, he heard some shuffling from inside the posh four bedroom townhome before the door opened to reveal a small, wrinkly elf with sallow green skin and large floppy ears.

"Lord Potter." The elf greeted him with a surprisingly deep voice.

Harry tempered the urge to smack the elf for using his proper title, deciding his ire should be directed at the man responsible for teaching him to address him as such.

"Good evening Patrick." He said kindly. He would never understand why the elf chose such a human name, but suspected Lady Granger-Weasley had something to do with it.

Pleasantries exchanged, Harry turned his attention back to the issue at hand. "Ron!" He yelled as he made his way across the marble floor, through the atrium and into the comfortable living area.

He heard the clomping of his ungraceful best friend before he saw him round the corner.

"Yes, Harry?" He said.

"Uncle Harry!" A small girl with dark red hair and brown eyes launched herself like a missile through the air and into his chest, providing a welcome disruption to his conversation with her father.

"Rose!" He said with equal enthusiasm as he released her and flicked his wand, floating her around the room to the delight of his goddaughter.

The two men stopped to watch the two year old fly about in a fit of laughter, the annoyance of being called by his proper title long forgotten.

"Ya know 'mione would kill you if she saw you doing this, right?"

He ignored Ron's comments, focusing instead on Rose's half-filled smile. "And she would kill you for calling her that." Harry countered. "How is she?"

Ron smiled broadly. "Preparing the legislation on Merepeople for Neville to introduce during next month's session."

Although it shouldn't surprise him after seventeen years, he still marvelled at his friends work ethic.

"That's not for another four weeks…"

"But the Merepeople deserve my full, uninterrupted attention." They finished together, swapping out the word "Werewolves" for "Merepeople" as they finished the soundbite that launched Hermione's iconic career nearly a decade prior.

"How is Hugo?" He asked as the trio made their way from the main living area, up the stairs and towards the nursery.

Ron unexpectedly blanched. "He has brown hair and green eyes mate!" He said in exasperation before turning on him in mock fury. "Are you sleeping with my wife?"

Harry rolled his eyes. "And Hermione says _**I'm **_a bad influence on Rose?"

The two friends broke out in laughter as Harry scooped the aforementioned girl up into his arms and entered the room.

She didn't notice them enter at first as she nursed Hugo in the far corner near the large window.

Hermione, even while nursing a newborn, retained her self-confident glow and good looks.

The girl who Draco routinely compared to a beaver in their earlier years had transitioned from an awkward teenager to a beautiful, confident, successful mother of two.

Walking up to her he gently placed a hand on her shoulder, though Hermione didn't jump. "How's my godson?" He asked.

The barrister with a fierce reputation tilted her head back and upwards, her brown eyes glowing despite the dark bags underneath them. "He has your sleeping habits from 1995." She deadpanned, amusement tugging at the corner of her lips.

Ron let out a deep laugh causing Hugo to scream. Almost instinctively Harry sent a silencing charm at the boy, as Hermione shot him a half-hearted frown.

"You're not supposed to silence a screaming baby." She chastised, though made no move to unsilence her now silently wailing child. "You really should read the parenting books I gave you Harry."

He rolled his emerald eyes once more but it was Ron who answered. "Give it a rest 'mione!" Ron said lightly, causing his wife to frown at her husband's nickname for her. "You never got the man to read '_Hogwarts a History,' _you're not getting him to read about changing nappies!"

"And think about it, Hermione." Harry began conversationally. "If I _had _read '_Hogwarts a History' _it would have been a wasted effort."

Picking up on where he was going Ron chimed back in. "You know, mate, I bet we're all over the modern versions of the book."

Harry raised a hand to his chest and gave Ron an over-the-top look of surprise. "You know I bet you're right!" He bellowed in exasperation.

Next to them Rose stood silently, her big brown eyes staring at the adults in confusion.

After his defeat of Voldemort the Hogwarts Historical Society had approached the trio about giving an in-depth interview about their experiences at Hogwarts. Only Hermione agreed to sit with them, providing the society with three new chapters of material, and the two of them with a lifetime of laughs in the process.

"Har har." Hermione replied.

"I'm glad Hugo is doing well." He said, gently taking the newborn from his mother and changing the topic.

"Ron would you please set the table." Hermione directed before turning her attention back to Harry as her husband left the two of them alone.

"I'll never understand why you insist on doing so many little chores yourselves, what's the point of Patrick if you're not utilizing him?"

"It's about remaining grounded despite our wealth. I don't want to raise a bunch of little assholes like Cho Chang."

He stifled his laughter. Laughing would discourage Hermione's new-found mean streak and he didn't want that. Cho's brood of shits ruined her baby shower, and not in an amusing way.

"Hugo's doing fine, Harry." She said returning to the topic at hand. "But how about you? You look like absolute shit. Have you been bopping around Knockturn Alley with Miles and Seamus again?" She said with a look of disapproval.

Though she had always denied it, Hermione had had her people keeping tabs on his comings and goings.

"I hate that you do that, Hermione." He said, genuine hurt in his voice.

The same look of confliction Hermione wore on her face when they used the time turner third year marred her features once more. "You know I don't actively keep track of you Harry, right?" She said softly.

'_**Anymore.' **_He added silently. She had for a while.

"I know." He said instead, not willing to turn the evening into a fight.

"Great news!" Ron yelled as he burst back into the room, Rose at his heels. "Mum's decided to join us for dinner."

"Wonderful." Hermione replied, her smile somewhat strained.

"HARRY!"

Molly greeted him as she engulfed him in a bone crushing hug.

"It's great to see you Molly."

His surrogate mother gave him a once over. "You look so thin." She commented frantically. "Have you lost weight?"

"No." He replied as he helped himself to a large helping of mashed potatoes, adding a dollop of butter before drowning it all in a pool of thick brown gravy. "Quite the opposite, actually. Hermione says I need to begin a diet."

Molly plastered a scowl on her wrinkled face and directed it at her daughter in-law, who in turn glared at Harry.

"Actually." She began. "What I said was magic, for all its ability, can't prevent you from gaining weight."

"Well I think you look lovely, dear." Molly said to him with a smile.

"Thank you, Molly." He replied before turning to Hermione. "I was only making fun, Hermione."

The glare didn't completely leave her face but conversation drifted onto lighter subjects.

Despite the loss of two children, Molly and Arthur Weasley had positioned themselves well to enjoy the second half of their lives, and their children wanted to make sure of it. Providing their parents with an expansion and renovation of the Burrow, twice-a-year vacations, and as much time with their grandchildren as they desired.

Fred never got to see what his vision would become and Harry liked to think he'd have been proud of what George and Ron had accomplished in just over a decade.

Ginny, on the other hand, had lived just long enough to see what 'Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes' could become. But even she would have had a hard time envisioning the storefront in Diagon Alley that once mocked Voldemort with a sign reading 'U No Poo' becoming the ministry's largest defence contractor.

"...and Harry I think it's just wonderful that you and Gabrielle are working together!"

Molly's comment shook him from his stupor as he ignored the inquisitive looks from Ron and Hermione.

"Oh don't give me that look, dear. I see Fleur just about daily and Gabrielle is at the Burrow weekly for Victoire's veela lessons or whatever she calls them."

"A real song of ice and fire, that one." Ron said through a mouth of roast and onion.

"Manners, please Ron." Was Hermione's annoyed reply, clearly getting sick of the joke. She wasn't the only one, if the lack of admonishment from Molly at Hermoine's comment was any indication.

"Getting a lot of mileage out of that one, aren't ya mate?" He said referring to Ron's muggle nickname for his red haired, blue eyed veela niece. The eight year old was in for a difficult Hogwarts experience in the years to come and Harry was beginning to realize that he may have to take Minerva up on her offer in a few years to protect the endearing child.

"What is it that you're helping Elder Monclair with, Harry?" Molly asked, ignoring her youngest son.

He gave the greying woman an apologetic smile. "I'm not allowed to talk about it Molly, you know that."

"It's a shame what's happening to them." Ron unexpectedly cut in, drawing blank stares from everyone in the room including the toddler covered in gravy.

"What?" He responded, slightly confused at the looks he was receiving.

Laughter on his lips, Harry had to ask. "Would you care to enlighten us, Ron?"

"Twenty-two disappearences. Gabby talked about it during her speech to the ICW. Apparently Flint walked out during her opening statements."

Harry, Molly, and Rose stared at Ron open mouthed but Hermione beamed. Encouraged by his wife, Ron continued. "This falls in line with a growing number of disappearances on the continent in general - particularly in the Balkan and Adriatic states."

Hermione stared at Ron in pride. "You see Ron! I told you! A little bit of effort and you can win that at-large seat in the Wizengamot!"

Harry filed away Ron's comment and ignored Hermione's quip about Ron dabbling in politics for a moment to shoot Hermione a questioning look. "I thought you hated the Wizengamot?"

Hermione nodded. "I do...did." She paused for a brief moment. "Kingsley appointed me when I was nineteen. It was unfair, really. I was the first female muggleborn in the Wizengamot, I was ill-prepared at the time. I always thought I'd run for a seat on my own someday, but I think I'm better suited to bring about change with my firm."

He nodded in agreement. Shack had put her in an unwinnable situation.

After dinner, Harry found himself, as he often did, staring at the wall in an out-of-the-way part of the townhome.

'**Weasley Wins it for England!'**

'_Harpies star seeker Ginny Weasley, PQL's Newcomer of the Year in 1999, beat Bulgaria's Viktor Krum to the snitch in the 178' minute to secure England the first Quidditch World Cup of the new millennium, England's first title in seventy years._

"_Gin. She's the best in the world at what she does. This game was never in doubt." Fellow Gryffindor and England's Captain Oliver Wood said after the game…'_

At this point in the article a champagne laden Ginny, a glistening diamond on her ring finger, was pictured with the large World Cup trophy as she laughed at a joke he had told her from just out of the frame.

"When pretty, single, smart veela visit your shop you should probably try and make a better impression, Harry." A soft voice said from behind him, interrupting his thoughts.

"How did you know?" He asked, his green eyes lingering on the framed copy of the 'Prophet' hanging on the wall for a second longer.

"A friend heard shouting from your shop the other morning then saw 'a golden goddess' walking out of your shop. I assumed it was Gabrielle, you confirmed it."

He rolled his eyes. Hermione had a lot of friends, and she was shit at lying. "I'm interested in gaining access to my vault. Nothing more."

A curious look flashed in his old friends eye's. "She can help you with that? How?"

He shrugged. "The goblins owe Elder Monclair a favor, they offered it to me if I solve their little problem."

Hermione smiled happily. "In that case you better stay sober! You work much better when you're sober!" She said with a certain amount of delight before turning off back towards the lounge.

"Yes. Sober." He mumbled, removing a large flask from his coat pocket and taking a generous swig. "I'll drink to that."

* * *

**A/N: **I'm blown away by the response to this story (in only 4 hours!). I have several chapters finished for this, but won't post three for probably another 2 weeks. Thanks again and I hope you enjoyed chapter 2!


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer: **I don't own HP.

**A/N: **What the hell, I'll post this chapter now. Thank you all again for the overwhelming response to this story!

* * *

The wait staff twirled around the cozy tea room with ease, delivering gold tea sets and plates with impeccable looking food about the naturally lit room to the various patrons around the deceptively large property.

It was the little details, she had noticed that set Sonya's Tearoom apart and delighted her diverse clientele.

The cutlery – from the tea sets to the butter knives – were solid gold as opposed to the traditional sterling silver. A small touch so the werewolves that frequented the establishment would feel welcome.

The food, while impeccable, was cooked without garlic in an attempt to appeal to the regions vampire clans.

And to accommodate their favorite clientele, the proprietor reserved the spacious third floor entirely for the veela and their guests.

These were the thoughts going through her mind as her mother jabbered on incessantly about her desire to do anything other than get married and have children.

"...and it's not just Molly who gushes about how you handle yourself in front of Victoire and the Granger-Weasley child." Apolline said the last bit with a tinge of disapproval, the reminder that Hermione _Granger-_Weasley hadn't taken her husband's name was clearly eating her up inside, never mind the fact that she never bothered to marry the father of her own children. "Your sister seems to think you're a natural!"

Gabrielle smiled genuinely. Her niece was the most unique veela she had ever encountered, tanzanite on a beach of emeralds. While Rose was the supportive cousin Victoire would need in the difficult years ahead.

"Victoire is an eager learner." She said in what was perhaps the understatement of the day. Molly had commented on more than one occasion how the eight year old reminded her of a young Hermione. "It is important that Rose understands our culture as well, she's family after all."

Apolline nodded and Gabrielle couldn't help but feel as though she had missed her mother's point entirely.

"I think you could argue that you've been most successful in your career as a teacher."

'_So that's today's angle.'_

She stabbed at her romaine in frustration, chewing slowly in an attempt to let her rage settle.

"My experience allows me to be a great teacher, mother." She countered respectfully. "I'd argue that leading the committee that got our people a seat on the International Confederation of Wizards after nearly a century of unsuccessful attempts, then serving as the youngest ambassador to the ICW in the last fifty years is a slightly more important accomplishment, but to each their own." Gabrielle quipped as she sipped her wine.

Apolline's face lengthened and her eyes narrowed. "Don't be shitty." She admonished. "And we can't vote. Deliver that and maybe we can readdress the issue." Her mother said dismissively.

The comment cut deep. It was never enough. It never would be enough. Not in Apolline's eyes.

Her mother smiled softly, reaching across the small table to place a hand on hers. "All I'm trying to say is that you can have a fulfilling career, if that's truly your intent, AND still have a family."

"A fulfilling career will be grooming your granddaughter to replace me as flock leader."

Her mother huffed then rolled her eyes. "So that's your ultimate goal." She said disdainfully. "To lead?"

At her nod Apolline sighed. "How empty."

'_How petty.'_

"Empty would be sucking up to my aunt for the first seventeen years of my life only to be told I didn't have what it takes, then holding a grudge for twenty five years."

Her mother snarled. "I walked away from your dear _**Elder **_Monclair when I realized how unhappy the old hen is!" She spat, her face contorting wildly in her rage. Idly she wondered if her mother would sprout feathers.

"You've never respected the hard work, the sacrifice veela like myself and your sister make on a daily basis so you can attend your fancy parties and tell your vapid stories to the younger generation."

"Yes I'm telling my goddaughter vapid stories of strong, intelligent veela and their unholy desire to be something more than some man's broodmare!" She spat, not noticing that she had stepped out of their table's privacy bubble and was making a scene.

The sound of a throat clearing from behind her shook her from her revelry, making her aware of her surroundings for the first time.

Feeling her face redden, she checked her watch briefly before turning back to her mother, her media smile on her face.

"Excuse me, mother. I'm running late for a lesson with Victoire."

Apolline smiled softly at her, raising her right hand to her cheek and brushing aside a strand of loose hair before engulfing her in a tight hug.

Leaning in close, her mother whispered softly in her ear. "It's time to grow up Gabrielle."

"That's for Victoire!" Apolline said loudly for the peanut gallery as she let her go.

"I'll make sure to pass it along." Gabrielle said with a sad smile, wondering how long it would be until Victoire's own grandmother turned on her.

* * *

She stepped out of the fireplace onto an intricately patterned oriental rug, pausing for the briefest of moments to tidy herself up before walking into Arthur and Molly's wonderful home.

The long hallway adorned with pictures gave way to a large sitting room with comfortable looking chairs and couches in front of a cozy, natural, wood fireplace that was not connected to the floo network.

Just past the sitting room was the highlight of the interior of the burrow; a large kitchen fitted with the most up-to-date muggle appliances. A fact Arthur was sure to mention the second he saw you admiring something new. _"The whole house is powered by the sun, you know!" _The excitable man's voice rang out in her mind. She would give anything to have been raised by such people.

The kitchen had a large wooden deck hanging off of it which led to Molly's other happy place – an over-sized vegetable garden she maintains herself with the help of Ron and Hermione's house elf, hilariously named 'Patrick.'

The Burrow may have changed since her first visit. But the same warm, welcoming feeling she felt on Fleur's wedding day was ever present in the cozy home, letting her know that the people hadn't changed much at all over the last fifteen years.

The normally lively Burrow was uncharacteristically quiet at present, though she supposed she was several minutes early. She took the tranquil moment to browse hundreds of framed pictures lining the shelves and walls of the Weasley's ancestral home.

A large group of brothers wearing matching homemade sweaters as they posed for a picture while snow fell behind them.

A framed photo on a shelf with elegant gold writing spelling out 'Gryffindor Quidditch – 1991/1992' in Molly's familiar penmanship hand-written in the corner. A first year Harry Potter clutching his Nimbus 2000 nervously, a fear that had long since disappeared from his life was still present in his young eyes.

All of the pictures contained some combination of the same dozen or so people in various stages of their life.

She smiled as a picture of an adolescent Ron Weasley, Hermione Granger, and Harry Potter waved vigorously at the camera, the legendary Albus Dumbledore, his equally legendary phoenix Fawkes perched on his shoulder laughing with who she recognized as the heroic Rubeus Hagrid off in the background.

Moving along she paused in interest as a teenage Ginny Weasley jumped on her boyfriend's shoulders, knocking them both into Hogwarts great lake, a large purple tentacle splashing water playfully not far off in the distance.

In one Arthur Weasley stood with his arms around Albus Dumbledore and Alastor Moody in what she recognized as Nymphadora and Remus Lupin's townhome in London.

It was at that moment she fully appreciated the history of this one room. Laid out before her were the men and women who defeated evil and brought a generation and counting of peace to the wizarding world. In this room Albus Dumbledore mingled with Harry Potter as Nymphadora Tonks talked battle strategy with Hermione Granger and Ron Weasley.

It was, perhaps, the most important landmark in England.

No wonder her niece worshipped these titans.

As she reached the middle row of the shelf next to the fireplace Gabrielle paused at a deeply uncharacteristic photo that she would bet anything the British Ministry would rather be in a museum.

She stared unblinkingly at the three dirty, bloodied teenagers and the decapitated, serpentine body of the late Lord Voldemort. Behind them Hogwarts burned, the flames nearly being drowned out by the thick plumes of smoke they were emitting. Around them chaos still reigned. Death eaters and ministry folks exchanged spellfire, one of the spells coming dangerously close to Harry's head.

The Golden Trio wasn't laughing, not in this photo.

Front and center stood Harry. Hair stuck to his sweaty and bleeding forehead, cracked glasses, and a bloody nose, the young hero stood directly over his foe, staring off to somewhere past the camera. The embodiment of a hero.

Next to him was an equally disheveled Ron Weasley, though those that knew him wouldn't recognize the sinister smile on his face as he spit on the dead dark lord.

To Harry's left stood the most accomplished Muggleborn in England's history, the only one of the three who could legitimately claim that this was the _second _most important moment of their lives. Though her fans wouldn't recognize her. Not with one eye swollen shut, not with her right ankle at that angle, and certainly not on the battlefield far away from the courtroom or a pulpit.

The photo was priceless and encapsulated both England's terrible past and bright future.

It was powerful and inspiring. The type of photo that should be immortalized with a statue at Memorial Park.

"That was both the best and worst day of my life." A familiar voice called from behind her.

Gabrielle turned around and faced the large woman with welcoming brown eyes and red hair speckled with grey. By the looks of her you never would have guessed that she killed Bellatrix Lestrange by herself in single combat. In this story even a housewife could be a force of nature.

Gabrielle thought about Molly's statement. She lost a son that day. The third member of her immediate family to die fighting death eaters.

"This picture… why?" She asked, feeling dumb.

Molly shrugged, her face a mask of indifference. "Colin Creevey took it in the heat of the moment. It arrived by owl the day after Fred's funeral." She shrugged again before her face hardened. "It serves as a reminder to those three that no matter how bad they think it has become, they've survived worse."

"Grandma! Aunt Gabby!" A tiny voice called from the doorway, drawing the attention of the room's two occupants.

Previous conversation on hold, she caught her nieces bright blue eyes before glancing subtly at Molly.

Catching the hint, Victoire engulfed her grandmother in a big hug, her tiny arms not quite able to encompass the smiling older woman.

Turning to Gabrielle, Victoire curtsied deeply. "Ambassador Delacour, you honor me with your time." The overly formal greeting, the same one that used to make Gabrielle roll her eyes in dismay as a child, caused her to beam with pride as an adult.

"Thank you, young Weasley." She replied.

Gabrielle watched as the red head struggled not to roll her own eyes.

"Not good enough Victoire." She said pointedly. "Again." The tiny veela grunted in dissatisfaction but didn't argue. That alone was a small victory.

"Ambassador Delacour, you honor me with your time." The young veela repeated respectfully.

Again Gabrielle repeated; "thank you, young Weasley."

This time the young veela curtsied deeply once more and waited.

"Good." Gabrielle said in approval.

Her niece smiled at the praise. "Will I need my wand?" she asked hopefully.

Gabrielle smiled broadly. They were supposed to continue with manners but after lunch with her own mother she decided some wand work would be less tedious.

She glanced at Molly. "How about we work on the levitation charm?"

Victoire wanted to jump in excitement, she could see it in those hypnotizing eyes of hers but she didn't, she resisted the urge.

"Do you remember the wand movements?"

The charm was at the very upper end of the eight year olds limit but she'd be damned if she allowed a veela to go to any school, yet alone one with as bigoted a history as Hogwarts, without being able to defend themselves.

Despite Hermione's inclusion on the Hogwarts Board of Governors, England's premier school of Witchcraft and Wizardry was slower to diversify than their counterparts on the continent. Victoire would be the first veela to attend the ancient school, frankly Gabrielle couldn't think of a better fit than the tenacious veela in front of her.

"An upward flick followed by a downward swish." She replied monotonously.

From the doorway to the kitchen Gabrielle could see Molly watching the spell with interest.

"What's the incantation?"

"Wingardium Leviosa." Her pupil replied dutifully.

"What does it mean?"

Victoire didn't miss a beat. "Wingardium is a blend of the English word 'wing' with an adaptation of the Latin word 'arduus,' which means 'steep.' Leviosa is also Latin having been derived from the word 'levo' meaning 'I lift.'"

Etymology was confusing but helped the learning process, she was told. "Very good!" She complimented. "Now give it a try."

Victoire gave her a firm nod. "Wingardium leviosa!" She yelled with a swish and flick.

Gabrielle watched in interest as not only the feather, but the entire table crashed into the ceiling.

From the doorway Molly laughed in amusement. "You remind me of another young girl who had trouble with the levitation charm."

Victoire turned to her grand-mère in excitement. She loved when Molly interrupted her lessons to share a story, and so did Victoire. The woman could make a fortune sharing forty years' worth of stories starring heroes like Albus Dumbledore, Alastor Moody, Harry Potter, and Hermione Granger-Weasley.

"Tell me Victoire, have you ever asked how your Uncle's Ron and Harry became best friends with your Aunt Hermione?" The small girl's eyes widened as her head shook no.

By the looks of Molly's smile Gabrielle knew the matronly woman had seen her briefly perk up as well at the stories topic. "It's a story about bullying, redemption, mountain trolls, and the levitation charm."

Five minutes later both teacher and student were laughing at Molly's tale. It was hard to imagine that the brave, heroic eleven year old in the story and the drunk she had just hired were the same person.

"Alright little angel." Gabrielle said, eliciting a toothy smile from her niece. Let's work on your control." The pair worked diligently for the next hour till a plain white feather floated at eye-level in front of the exhausted veela.

"I think that's enough for today." She said warmly. "Why don't you grab your things and I'll take you home."

Waiting till she was alone with Molly, Gabrielle turned to her, an uneasy look on her face. "Did Elder Monclair make a mistake in trusting Harry?"

Molly smiled softly at her in response. "For all his faults, Harry has never let the people he cares for down." She placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder. "If Harry said he would solve this case, he will."

Molly was so confident in her response Gabrielle couldn't help but smile.

* * *

Aiden whooped in joy as Harry's vest glowed gold. "You're losing a step, Potter!" The commander of the Warlock's gloated as he batted away Harry's response.

A smirk overcame Harry as six identical Harry Potter's fanned out across the dueling chamber. One of the copies twitched slightly and his old friend acted predictably. Thinking Harry had made such a minor mistake Aiden set his attention on the decoy, turning his back partially to give himself a better angle on the perceived threat.

Sneaking up behind him, Harry put the dark-skinned man in a tight headlock, effectively cutting off the younger man's air supply. "Do you yield he asked?" Aiden flipped him over his shoulder by way of response before throwing a jab with his left.

Harry took the punch, allowing Aiden to break his nose as his trainee left himself open to a magical counter.

He hit him with four straight bludgeoners to the chest causing him to glow bright orange as he flew through the air and into the padded wall.

Despite the padding and the protective wards and vest Harry grimaced slightly, not really wanting to hurt his friend but unwilling to lose. The other man spit up blood and put a hand up to stop the duel. "Goddammit Potter!" He said with a feral grin as they collected the summarised reports from the data gathered by the vests. "You're an absolute monster!"

'_**Power: **__100'_

'_**Agility: **__96'_

'_**Accuracy: **__99'_

'_**Average Difficulty: **__98'_

The data points measured by the vests and a tracker on their wands were based on a one to one hundred scale. Each spell you cast, whether it was a hit or not was recorded and ranked based on the average witch and wizard. A score of fifty said that you scored in the fiftieth percentile of all witches and wizards based on your age. A score of seventy five placed you in Auror Special Forces territory. The Warlock's averaged out around eighty to eighty five. They didn't make many like Aiden, and Harry was one of a kind.

"It's those bloody bounty hunters, mate." He said with a sarcastic grin. "They keep me on my toes!" They both laughed at the little joke. Despite their attempts, Gringotts had been unable to access the Potter Family Vaults, the Black Family Vaults, or his personal trust in order to take restitution for his little stunt during the war; they needed his blood for that.

They traded scorecards. His friend was beginning to reach his vast potential. The twenty four year old American was scoring in the high eighties now. Thoughts of his current job swirled through his mind. "What's the Old Bitch got ya working on these days?" Harry asked, using the nickname he had gifted to Margaret Fawcett after training.

The jagged scar on Aiden's left cheek compressed as he grinned. "International Organized Crime."

Harry wanted to roll his eyes. That was all they had ever worked on when he was leading the team and it seemed not much had changed. "Montescu? Hronek? Malfoy?" He inquired, listing off the three major players in the European market. "How boring." Muggle cinema had a tendency to exaggerate the excitement of organized crime. Ninety percent of his time in the Warlock's had been spent working the subject, almost all of it mindless paperwork and staring at people from a distance. The other ten percent of his time had been Nott. He had enjoyed killing Nott.

Aiden shook his head, brown hair matching his eyes. "Something new. Something far more interesting." Harry scowled. He hated this game. He hated that Aiden was going to make him ask then playfully decline his request before ultimately acquiescing. "What's that?"

The younger man smiled ruefully and Harry wanted to punch him. "You're not a Warlock anymore, Harry." He tutted. "What I know is privileged information."

The tone may have been playful but there was genuine hurt as well. He had been Aiden's mentor and Harry had quit without warning. It had taken a while for the other man to get over that. "Please, Aiden. I'm working on a case for the veela." He said suggestively, playing on his friends base instincts.

The younger man perked up. "Gabrielle Delacour?"

Harry smiled playfully. Aiden had a crush. "How do you know Gabby?" He inquired, using a more familiar name for Ambassador Delacour.

Aiden took his mock inquiry for jealousy and gave him a coy smile. "We went out a few times. Little spitfire, that one." Harry filed that bit of information away for later. "Word of advice, let her win any argument. She withholds sex if you don't let her win." Harry laughed. Aiden didn't know that much about her if he didn't know Gabrielle was his sister-in-law. He was well aware of her stubbornness. "I'll keep that in mind." He said dryly. "So that new criminal organization, do you gotta name?"

A look of doubt crossed his face. "Maybe?" There was a lingering question in his voice. He didn't trust his source. "Malfoy called them the 'Monkey's Paw.' They may be some sort of black market for the extremely wealthy. We haven't found any evidence yet."

Harry let the information marinate for a moment. "Any rumors of creature trafficking?"

His friend perked up. "Not yet. But we have no suspects, just whispers." Harry could see the gears turning in his friend's head. "Is that what Gabrielle thinks is happening to those missing veela?"

Harry was unsurprised his friend was able to deduce his case so quickly. The Warlock's had vast resources, they'd be aware of the missing veela. "She asked me to do the thinking."

Aiden laughed. "Good on you, mate." He said with a smile. "Anything ya need, you know I'll help."

'_For a price.' _They both added silently.

* * *

He sat on a bench at the pier overlooking the marina casually with no shirt and a pair of board shorts paired with flip flops, sporting a stylish set of sunglasses on his tanned face as a scoop of vanilla bean drizzled with caramel melted on his warm crepe. He had barely lasted five minutes in Cannes before hunting down a crepe, and four of those minutes had been deciding whether or not his first stop should be the casino.

He hummed a jaunty tune as streams of rich vanilla ran down his face. He looked like a fool but he didn't care. Few things were better than dessert, how he looked while he enjoyed it hardly mattered. Ron once said he looked like a child when he ate ice cream.

Ron. Who the hell was he to talk? The man lacked basic table manners. Watching him eat next to Victoire at Rose's birthday party last year had been embarrassing. Privately he thought Hermione considered Ron's lack of etiquette her biggest failure. His manners would ultimately sabotage Ron's chances of being elected to the Wizengamot. The second he was forced into a more formal setting his friend was fucked. Ron had a penchant for breaking things at black tie events. Harry smiled, the thought of Ron and Hermione's objectively disastrous wedding played on repeat in his mind.

As he ate, he was able to spot a dozen CCTV cameras in addition to the food cart Melanie had mentioned.

"_Security cameras blanket the area. Public records suggest that CCTV footage is reviewed in the casino." _ He whispered into his recorder as he shifted his attention to the fat Berber with a goatee running the kabob stand closest to him.

The friend described to him by Melanie was the son of Sufian, the leader of an Algerian Berber clan across the sea. The elder man had no reputation. Nobody he spoke with had anything positive, or negative to say about his leadership style or his people. They simply existed in the sand; fighting for survival on a daily basis, nobody caring if they won or lost. Ultimately Sufian and his people were unimportant to the story of magic and would be forgotten shortly after their deaths.

He joined the growing line, curious to see what the fuss was about. Six veela didn't regularly visit the sweaty man for his looks.

Despite his jovial appearance, Aderfi was a murderer who had been banished from his clan in a great display of nepotism by his father. Frankly, he was surprised Sufian had been able to look the aggrieved family in the eyes and tell them the punishment had been just, _**then **_maintain hold of his clan. It spoke to the indifference of the people as a whole that Sufian was able to maintain power after the scandal. Now Aderfi was a charming murderer hawking questionable meat to poor muggles.

Harry watched the man move at sloths speed as he attended to his handful of customers. _'This better be the best kabob in France.' _

What an arrogant prick. Moving that slowly with those prices should be a bloody crime.

He got to the front of the line and twisted his watch, activating a small muggle-repelling ward around the area. The watch, a 'Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes' creation, had been designed specifically for subterfuge. Turn the clock-face once and the user activates an ironclad privacy ward over a small area. Twice and you're alerted to magical defenses in the area. Three times and muggles won't bug you. Four times and you bust through most anti-apparition fields. Fred and George's dream may have been to open a joke shop, and they had. But it was their defense products and their contracts with various ministries that built George and Ron's wealth, not laughs. The ICW would have Harry's head if they knew he had access to these products.

"Tell me about the veela, Aderfi." He stated bluntly. Wasting no time getting to the point with the man.

Despite his efforts Aderfi didn't look the least bit surprised at Harry's knowledge and offered him a soft, charming smile. "It's nice to meet you, Lord Potter." The vendor stated warmly, handing him a kabob.

Harry took a bite, savoring the blend of paprika, turmeric and meat. He understood the line.

"Tell me about the veela, Aderfi." He repeated.

The large man smiled. "Three mothers and their daughters, all quite beautiful, are regulars here. Yes."

He rolled his eyes at the man's antics. He didn't really have time for this.

"When was the last time you saw any of them?" He asked pointedly, his hand fingering his wand in his sleeve.

The vendor shrugged. "Tara and her mother were here a week ago. I haven't seen Elsa or Clara in a month or so."

Harry's eyes narrowed as he reassessed the man in front of him. "Tell me about the last time you saw Melissa and her daughter." He asked, his voice a bit clipped.

If the man noticed the change in tone his face said nothing. The same shit-eating grin he wore thirty seconds prior was still there. "Melissa and her daughter, the other two and their daughters, generally visit my stand every two weeks or so. They order, pay, and leave."

"What happened after Marissa left your cart this past time?"

The man shrugged. "They left my plane of vision." He said.

'_Bullshit.' _ Berber's had a strange affinity for magic. Unable to practice advanced magics themselves, they, much like Albus Dumbledore, had the rare ability to _sense _magic. This man was eyeing him from before he ordered his crepe thirty minutes ago, he didn't believe for a second that he lost sight of Melissa and Tara.

"Which way did they head?" He asked with a smile as the murderer pointed to his left towards a set of umbrella-shaded tables overlooking the water.

Harry walked off without paying, finishing his kabob before throwing the trash in a bin.

The wrought iron tables were covered with a light blue rubber which blended nicely with the light blue and white striped umbrellas protecting its patrons from the late summer heat.

There were a half-dozen tables in all, all circular with matching benches capable of sitting six normal sized people, or three Aderfi's. The tables themselves were spattered at varying intervals, some sitting right next to the railing at the edge of a cliff overlooking the sea, while others fanned out all the way to the edge of the pier and into the shade of the casino. He would bet his rather generous retainer on Melissa sitting at the table furthest from the busy pier, away from the unwanted glances and mean whispers.

He headed that way, noticing another half-dozen camera's covering every remaining inch of the pier, stopping just short of a well-hidden alley.

Harry made his way down the alley before picking up on a bit of latent magic, the remnants of an old, unofficial wizarding district popular during the Napoleonic Wars.

Standing just outside of the vacant district he removed his recorder once more.

"_Victims were last seen in the vicinity of a long alleyway to the south of the casino just off the peer. The alley contains a vaguely hidden district that appears to be a few centuries old. The alley and district are out of the way and don't appear to be well trafficked. It would be an ideal abduction point."_

He took a quick glance around not seeing anything of note before throwing the cloak of Ignotus over himself and turning his watch four times before silently disappearing and reappearing in a bathroom stall just inside the casino.

Before the fall of Voldemort witches and wizards had little reason to integrate with muggle society. His friend had changed all that with her crusades to expand muggleborn and creature representation in ministries across the continent.

Hermione had a noble goal that led to an in-noble outcome. The more traditional purebloods, led by Draco, saw opportunity where their fathers saw enemies. They diverted so many resources to ripping off muggles they crashed the economy in two thousand and three. Casino's had been among the first to adapt to wizards. Installing intense security measures to protect themselves from thieves and employing magical mercenaries - many of whom Harry himself trained with.

Thankfully his cloak nullified his need to worry about any of that bullshit.

Silently he made his way to the security room before quickly disposing of the guards and making his way over to the monitors.

A series of well-practiced movements had Harry toggling the computer's home screen in search of the proper security recordings. Camera's covered the area. Marissa and Tara's abductors would be on there and he would have a description, a next step.

He queued up the correct date and began to watch.

He watched as Marissa and Tara arrived hand in hand.

He watched as Marissa playfully scolded her daughter for feeding the birds before visiting Aderfi's stand and settling at the table closest to the alleyway he had just visited.

As he watched his attention was drawn to a large woman with beach-blonde hair frantically running around the pier, shoving a cell phone in stranger's faces.

He wasn't the only one that had been drawn to the frenetic woman. Marissa and Tara had been drawn in as well. Marissa went so far as to speak to this woman before following her off into the alleyway and out of view of the cameras.

He waited for several minutes and confirmed his suspicion. This woman had lured Marissa into that alley with the intent to abduct her.

Harry replayed the security footage, this time focusing on when the woman entered the frame.

She was good. He'd give her that. The woman had avoided looking towards the camera's for the most part as she waited for her victims to arrive.

Once they did, the lady watched patiently from a distance until the veela had grabbed their food.

At that point the woman made a mistake, glancing for half a second at the camera closest to him, a dark look on her familiar, pig like face.

A sinister smile crossed his scarred face. He hadn't expected to see this bitch alive again.

At long last Pansy Parkinson had returned.

* * *

**A/N: **People are asking why Harry didn't play quidditch professionally. I've always seen Harry as a good schoolyard quidditch player, much like your HS quarterback is a good HS quarterback, not a Heisman Trophy winner. We were never given any indication that Harry spent time in the summer training for quidditch other than pickup games, he didn't play for several years at Hogwarts, and he never showed interest in playing professionally.


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer: **I don't own HP

**A/N: **To my fellow American's, happy Thanksgiving. For my fellow college football fans, happy hate week. I left a little easter egg in their for ya.

* * *

Though the bleach-blonde hair was new her face was the same, cute despite the fucked up little scowl. Ultimately he pitied the poor woman.

Voldemort's second demise wasn't like the first. There was no buying your way out of your crimes – at least that had been Hermione's intent. Bless her heart. She wasn't ready for the lion's den at nineteen. The caveat Shacklebolt had agreed to was much less satisfying.

Voldemort had not been a dark lord, but a revolutionary leading a civil war. His followers weren't terrorists but soldiers; his inner circle – generals. They wanted amnesty and reconstruction.

The balls on Lucius Malfoy. Hermione hadn't been prepared for it. When it was explained to him that Lucius had quoted Abraham Lincoln he had laughed. How many muggles had Lucius killed from behind his mask?

Lucius Malfoy and the admitted _revolutionaries_ agreed to relieve themselves of their posts at the Wizengamot, handing them off to their heirs, and leaving Britain never to return. The cost of reconstruction had conveniently been the exact contents of the Parkinson vault.

To the best of his knowledge, Pansy had perished with Nott.

Apparently he had been wrong.

"Harry Potter here to see Elder Monclair." He said pleasantly in English.

The hostess – Adriana if her name tag was to be believed – frowned at his English before speaking rapid Romanian into her ear piece. "Right this way."

Her English had a Parisian accent, throwing him for a loop as he followed her up a staircase to the third floor. He found it difficult to concentrate as they made it through the crowded room of veela and into a dimly lit room off in the corner.

"Thank you, Adriana." The pleasant voice of Elder Annette Monclair rang through the cozy room lined with personal effects.

The teenager responded with a warm smile and a bout of rapid Romanian, completely engaging the angelic veela for several minutes, leaving him alone in silence to glance around the room.

The pictures told the story of Annette's life. Her rise to flock leader. Her promotion to the high council. Her ascension to _**Elder**_ Monclair. The wickedly smart, aggressive, charismatic, charming leader of the world's most beautiful species.

They also told the story of Gabrielle, and he found his eyes resting on a very familiar picture from February of 1995.

"She was a rather stupid child." He turned to face Annette Monclair. Harry had no idea how old she was, several decades older than him, that was for certain; had he seen her at a lounge in Whisper Alley he would assume the woman with silver hair and blue eyes was younger than him. Her breath smelled of peppermint and her lotion, or perhaps her shampoo, had a light apricot scent. She wore a simple light blue button up blouse left undone at the top with a pair of khakis and a matching ribbon in her hair. Her effortless beauty almost distracted him from those intelligent eyes, always working, always plotting; what was that muggle proverb? "Look like a butterfly, sting like a bee?" Was that right?

"The first time I saw Gabrielle walk it was straight into a glass door." She said with a laugh. The jab at Gabrielle was disarming and made him feel comfortable. He smiled. "Children are stupid." His grin contained a hint of dark amusement. "I used to allow my relatives to beat me."

It wasn't difficult to make somebody feel comfortable. Ask a person for a favor and they'll feel valued. Use somebody's name instead of pronouns. Share something personal about yourself or a mutual friend.

The subtle games we play.

The leader of the veela paused and he could see the gears turn in her mind. Elder Monclair had expected a follow up. She hadn't maintained control of the conversation.

Annette truly smiled making him feel as though he had passed some sort of unwritten test. "My favorite great granddaughter is a rather good judge of character, Lord Potter; and she is rather fond of you."

He returned her smile. Helena of Troy didn't have shit on Victoire of Shell Cottage. The veela was special. Even he could see that. "Please call me Harry." He said politely. "Victoire loves magic, Elder Monclair, and anyone who teaches her."

Was it irresponsible to gift a six year old a rudimentary book on curses? Perhaps. Would Victoire need to know those spells? Absolutely. And he was happy to help her practice the wand movements whenever their paths crossed.

"And you must call me Annette."

A throat clearing from near the doorway and the amusement dancing in Annette's eyes told him she knew Gabrielle had been there the entire time. "If I was a stupid child what's that say about you, for picking me?"

Annette laughed merrily, leaning on the back legs of her chair with her feet hoisted on her desk the older veela threw her head back dramatically. "It says I must be going senile!" She stated with more than a touch of hyperbole causing her grandniece to light up in amusement. It was a look Harry hadn't had an opportunity to see on his employers face and he rather liked it.

Gabrielle gave him a glance and a coy smile. "You're not fooling anyone you old hen!" She laughed before rounding on him in mock seriousness. "You can't trust Annette, Harry. She's losing her grip on reality." She said casually, placing her hand lightly on his forearm.

"So that's the angle you're going to take with the Zekanot?" Annette replied defensively as she stood up to face Gabrielle, drawing attention to the fact that they were dressed like twins. "How else would I unseat the legendary Annette Monclair?" Was the younger veela's response.

The pair burst out laughing leaving Harry to feel as though he had missed out on the joke.

Gabrielle took pity on him, fixating her pretty blue eyes his way. "According to some." Gabrielle stopped to glare at Annette who was stifling laughter. "I'm organizing a coup against our _**Dear Leader.**_" The two veela burst out laughing.

"I'm onto you!" Annette threatened, pointing a stern finger towards her protégé. "Don't think I don't know what you're up to." Gabrielle grabbed his forearm once more and made a show of dragging him in front of Annette. With a surprising amount of sincerity Gabrielle apologized.

"I'm sorry Elder Monclair." She said, dropping to her knees and kissing the rings on her great grandaunt's left hand. For her part Annette had released the full brunt of her heritage on the room, nearly overpowering him. "Please accept this submissive as an apology." In the recesses of his mind Harry desperately hoped the veela took Gabrielle up on her offer, joke or not there were worse fates.

The aura faded and the two looked at him with amusement and Annette sighed, stepping towards him with a thin folder in her hand. "Back to business I'm afraid." She handed him the folder. "Azzurra's class logs. If that bint gives you any trouble let Gabby know."

The dynamic in the room had changed. Harry and Annette sat in discussion while Gabrielle stood completely still and at attention a step behind where Elder Monclair sat. "Thank you."

He paused momentarily to flip through the logs. Raising an eyebrow at Gabrielle's name midway through page three. "There's something else we need to discuss." He placed the folder aside and looked her straight in her intense baby blues. "I have an update on Marissa and Tara's disappearance." He said, taking a healthy sip of merlot. "I reviewed CCTV footage from the pier and was able to identify one of the suspected abductors as a former classmate of mine, Pansy Parkinson." He was fairly certain Vincent Crabbe and Gregory Goyle were the muscle behind the abduction but he lacked proof.

Annette digested the information without emotion. "I was under the impression the entire family had been exterminated following the Nott fiasco."

Harry nodded. "I had been under that impression as well, Elder Monclair."

"Interesting." She said more to herself than to him. "She had an infatuation with Draco Malfoy at Hogwarts, isn't that right?"

She was well-informed. "She did." He confirmed, though that may have been an understatement. "Though she wouldn't be working with the Malfoy's anymore."

Annette hummed her agreement, lost in thought. She turned to the still stoic Gabrielle. "Gabrielle inform Lady Malfoy I will be joining you and Lord Potter at young Scorpius's birthday party this Saturday, would you."

"Of course, Elder Monclair." Gabrielle replied dutifully.

Harry plastered a smile on his face. "I had no idea I had plans this weekend." Gabrielle glanced at Elder Monclair who wore a stern look on her face.

Gabrielle waited for approval from Elder Monclair before speaking. "I was planning on bringing it up on our walk…after this meeting." She added hastily at his confusion, seeming more flustered than he had seen her since Fleur's wedding when she had asked him to dance.

"Yes." Elder Monclair deadpanned. "You two will need to visit Paris beforehand, you know how these events are."

Annette stood up abruptly, her body language shifting once more.

Gabrielle picked up on it as well as she allowed her own posture to relax.

"I'll leave you two to that walk."

Gabrielle reddened but looped her arm in his and led him out the room.

They walked arm in arm through the streets of Bucharest in silence till they reached Herăstrău Park.

Bucharest's largest park borders the city to the north and provides a nice escape from urban life, Gabrielle tells him as they walk along a cement path in the shade of the lush green trees above, making their way to the shoreline of the large lake at the park's center.

"Can I get a drink?" Gabrielle asked as they rounded the lake, breaking a comfortable silence. He handed her his silver flask - a gift from Seamus – and she took a large pull, not reacting to the firewhisky's bold flavor. "I needed that." She said with half a laugh before turning to him seriously. "I didn't mean to spring a date on you, much-less to your childhood enemy's home."

Harry really didn't care. There were far worse things than being romantically attached to Gabrielle Delacour, even if it was for show. "I really don't mind." He said. "Draco and I aren't friends, but I don't want to kill the man either."

Gabrielle snorted. "Molly makes it sound as though the mere sight of him will send you into an apocalyptic rage." Harry smiled. "Molly loves drama."

"That she does." Gabrielle responded. "She told me and Victoire about how you three became friends." Harry smiled. "Damn Mountain Trolls." He said. "I honestly have trouble believing that worked."

"But it did!" She said with a laugh, turning to face him, her honey blonde hair sparkling in the sunlight, the wide smile on her diamond shaped face highlighting a set of pretty dimples and perfect teeth. "And that's the third page in the legend of Harry Potter."

He looked at her confused. "What's the second page?"

She smiled. "When you became the 'youngest seeker in over a century!'" She stated in an eerily accurate re-enactment of Ron from first year.

He joined her in laughter as she took another pull before sitting down on a bench and handing him back his flask.

"What was the single strangest thing you did at Hogwarts?"

He pondered the question as he took another sip. He thought it would be more difficult to answer but it wasn't. "Time turner in third year. Hands down." He replied with a laugh as Gabrielle leaned into his shoulder. "Reviewing your actions silently from the forest with the opportunity to re-write history is complex to handle as an adult, at thirteen it was nearly impossible." She laughed. "What about you?"

To his chagrin Gabrielle sat up. "I didn't really have one."

He raised an eyebrow; "I find that hard to believe."

A brief, sad smile graced her face. "When you're a veela, school is a chore."

He empathized and for the first time he started comparing difficulties in his head; both were routinely stared at for things they could not control. Both were targets of bullies. Both came from well-off families. Though he doubted she faced the severe, near constant, media attacks he suffered from while at Hogwarts. And there was never an insane dark lord attempting to murder her and everyone she cared for.

But even that last part wasn't true. Her sister was in the Order of the Phoenix. Fleur Delacour, to the best of his knowledge, was the only veela to fight against Voldemort.

She leaned back into him after and the pair sat in silence for a long moment before he spoke again.

"Why did you pick me?" He asked inquisitively.

She smiled. "Because I believe in you."

* * *

Miles voice cracked as he sang off tune and out of key to a chorus of 'boo's' reigning down on him from the smattering of crowded circular tables at Konrad's Karaoke.

Harry couldn't stop laughing as Miles paid off his debt.

"You fucking suck!" Someone yelled through the crowded bar as they threw their drink at his friend, who caught it out of the air and finished it, eliciting the first cheers from the crowd as he finished the song. "Thanks for the free drink!" His friend saluted with his finger as he left the small stage.

Harry's smile was still on his face as Miles made his way back to their table. "You've got a cruel sense of humor." He said with a grin as he sat down at their table while a new performer took stage.

He chuckled. "I told you, Kestrel would defeat Puddlemore, you came up with the stakes." The dirty blonds face soured. "Ay. That's true."

Harry rolled his eyes. "It is, Hagrid." Miles laughed and tapped the rectangular outline in his jean pocket. "Walk with me mate."

Harry rolled his eyes but made no other comment as they dipped out the bars back exit and into a wide alley way. He leaned against the wall as Miles lit his cigarette with his wand, blowing a ring of smoke into the night sky. "Those are going to kill you someday mate."

Miles flipped him the bird. "If my wife, mistress, drugs, or booze don't do me in first."

They both laugh. "Speaking of my mistress…"

Harry perked up slightly. His former housemate was annoying, self-important, and lacked basic intelligence; but she was well connected and willing to talk if you got her in the mood. "What gift did Lavender's post-coital bliss give you this time?" He said, snatching the older man's cigarette from his fingertips and taking a drag.

"Apparently Padma has been flush with galleons lately."

Harry frowned in consternation as he handed his drunk friend back the cigarette. "She probably made a sound investment, who gives a shit."

Miles frowned before correcting himself. "I meant Parvati. Parvati has been flush with galleons lately."

Harry paused to digest the information. The twins were the daughters of Mahir and Vijay Patil; a prominent diplomat and potions master, respectively. The family was wealthy enough, though nowhere near the level of the Malfoy family.

"Interesting." He responded.

While Padma had went on to study in New Delhi after Hogwarts before following her father into politics, Parvati had chosen a different route.

"Did becoming a 'patron of the arts' finally start paying a salary?"

Miles laughed, leaning on the alley wall opposite him as he lit another smoke with the butt of the first. "Lavender thinks she found herself a sugar daddy somewhere on the continent. She's keeping it very hush-hush."

"Hmm." He responded, not really caring how Parvati made her money.

Sensing his disinterest, Miles shifted the conversation as they walked towards Memorial Park and a familiar food cart. "I lost another hundred galleons betting on your boy Wood."

Harry let out a laugh as he grabbed his basket of fish and chips from the enthusiastic house elf running the cart. "That's what you get for betting on a washed up keeper, mate."

Miles sighed as they continued to walk through the mostly empty park. "I'm still not sure why they named him starter for the world cup. It made no sense!"

Privately Harry agreed. It had been premature to name Oliver Wood England's starting keeper back in 2006 at the start of qualifying and it had been egregious to have him start over Hughes in the world cup, especially after his subpar showing in the first match.

"He won us two world cups." Harry said through a bite of cod. "You gotta stick with the hippogriff that got you there."

Miles shot him a disgusted look. "You've spent too much time with Ron, mate." He said. "Your manners are atrocious."

Harry shrugged and they fell into a companionable silence, his mind turning to Gabrielle and the upcoming party, excited despite himself to spend an afternoon with her despite the unpleasant setting.

They exited the extensive park about three blocks from his flat in Diagon Alley when movement from several directions caught his eye as he subconsciously moved his wand into position.

'_Four enemies, each on your peripheries.' _

"Miles, mate. We are about to come under attack." He stated matter-of-fact-like.

His attackers didn't hesitate, unleashing a barrage of cutters his way as Harry engulfed two of them in a golden dome. "Mate, if I cover you would you mind running like a scared little bitch towards the apparition point while I take care of these four?"

Miles' eyes were as wide as saucers but he nodded in affirmation.

"On my ready then." He said in what he hoped was a calm voice. "3, 2, 1!"

Miles drunk ass took off at a stumble while Harry unleashed a barrage of mostly harmless spells at his opponents, careful to avoid his friend as he reached the apparition point and disappeared with a loud pop.

Harry winced. Lisa would most likely have to reattach some body parts, Miles had definitely been too drunk to apparate.

He didn't have to wonder who was attacking him, he never did. Gringotts was desperate for a drop of his blood and the bounty was becoming too tempting for the more audacious mercenaries.

Batting away three spells, Harry waved his wand from left to right across his body in a wide sweeping motion, unleashing a nasty mustard spell that covered most of the area.

His first two enemies jumped into the air to avoid the cutter, leaving them exposed to take a killing curse each to the chest.

Harry turned his attention to the other two bounty hunters, who had abandoned trying to take a simple drop of blood and were instead hurling killing curses his way with reckless abandon.

A flick of his wrist summoned the two dead mercenaries to intercept a pair of their curses, sending both corpses up in flames.

Using the fire as a distraction Harry flicked his wrist three times, turning the pair into inferii and directing them towards his attackers, who were quick to sever their former colleague's heads. Harry followed up the inferii with a pair of blasting curses that left the last two merc's dead in the street, and Harry with a wide smile.

"Is that all you've got!" He yelled in the direction of Gringotts before severing the heads of his enemies and affixing them to spikes. Spikes in hand he marched up to the edge of the steps of Gringotts, mindful not to step on goblin territory he plastered the four spikes on the doorstep of the ancient bank.

Satisfied with his evening, Harry started to hum a little jig as he walked himself home.

* * *

She hated the reservation, though she would never admit it outwardly. The pristine gardens, generous living situation, and overall quality of life provided an easy excuse for veela to become complacent. The intelligence and ingenuity of the species was eroding because of it.

The office of Elder Monclair was designed to look modest and feel welcoming. There were no displays of wealth or prestige, only simple seating and pastel walls.

"Have you begun to think about your twenty fifth birthday party, Gabrielle?" Annette asked her casually, handing her a burly piedmont.

She didn't allow herself to scowl. "That's not for another six months, Annette." She said casually. "Let's get through the holidays first." Like last year, and the year before that she would not be having a birthday party. "What brought this up?"

Her great grandaunt shrugged casually, joining her on the loveseat. "Young Scorpius's birthday this weekend."

Gabrielle sighed loudly causing Annette to frown at her in disapproval. "You need to get over childhood rejections, dear. Someday, sooner rather than later, you will have your own flock and nobody will give a damn about your insecurities."

She had never been the most popular girl growing up - having a stuck up bitch for an older sister didn't help her, neither did hitting puberty a few years after her peers. Though once she did hit puberty the neglect turned mostly to sexual aggression and jealousy.

"You don't have to like everyone, Gabrielle." Her mentor said lovingly. "All you really need is a small circle of close friends."

Those had been equally hard to come by - after her post graduate studies at Beauxbatons she had assumed studying at the Zekanot would provide her with some kind of social life. Turns out veela were turned off by perceived nepotism.

Gabrielle's face reddened slightly and she dropped her head. "I've never excelled in that area."

Annette smiled. "Make friends with Potter, dear. You're both miserable little shits with way too much power. You may as well be miserable together."

She scowled slightly. "Bonding with him over loneliness is hardly healthy."

Annette shrugged again. "You both like to drink."

"One of us can control it." She countered.

A coy smile came over Annette's lovely features. "When did Potter learn to control his drinking?" She said, staring pointedly at her empty glass of wine.

She rolled her eyes by way of response and Annette frowned. "If you're truly worried about his sobriety I can hire someone else."

Gabrielle shook her head. She had every confidence in Harry Potter's ability to solve this case.

"You were right to hire him."

Annette smiled ruefully and Gabrielle knew she had been had. "Good."

* * *

The rain had forced their luncheon inside, much to Hermione's chagrin. "I can't believe they don't have the decency to install water repelling wards around the patio area. They can afford it, obviously." His friend stated, making a broad gesture to the absent prices on the menu.

"Let it go, 'mione." Her husband said dismissively, turning his attention towards Harry. "I heard about your run in with the bounty hunters, mate." Ron said with a wide grin. "You made quite the display of them!"

Harry smiled at his friend's gusto. It had been a long time since Ron had been in a mortally perilous situation and his oldest friend seemed to take joy in living vicariously through him from time-to-time. "It was a beautiful end to a wonderful evening."

They both laughed, though Hermione looked troubled, causing the two men to stare at her; Harry with an inquisitive look on his slightly scarred face. "They are becoming increasingly bold, aren't they?" She said, a bit of worry seeping into her voice.

A decade ago, Hermione would have chided him for the escalation, the brutality, or both. At some point she had accepted the violence that seemed to cast a shadow on his life. He wasn't sure how he felt about that.

"Have you reconsidered my offer?" She asked hopefully. She desperately wanted to install him as the next Defense against the Dark Arts professor at Hogwarts. Though the actual curse on the position had fallen with the death of Riddle, no professor had lasted more than two and a half years since Riddle's own time as a student.

"I'm not a fan of children, Hermione. But I appreciate the offer."

She harrumphed, brushing a strand of thick, tamed brown hair from her face behind her ear. "You don't hate Victoire, or Rose, or Hugo." She countered, counting the names off on her fingers as she went. "Think of what they could accomplish with you as a mentor!"

He shot her a dazzling grin. "Yes! A mentor! Mentor's meet infrequently and are pen pals, which I am willing to do."

At that moment their waitress arrived to take their drink orders and Hermione let the conversation die.

"I saw Gabrielle the other day at the cafe. She says Pansy Parkinson has a role in the disappearances?"

Harry covered his frown with a sip of butterbeer.

"Don't give me that look, Harry." Hermione said with a bit of annoyance and a roll of her hazel eyes. "Yes I saw her. No it was not planned. In fact she approached me; she wants to hire me to represent the Zekanot in matters before the ICW."

"Did I say anything?" He snapped.

Hermione's eyes narrowed briefly before natural grace reclaimed its place on her face. "Anyways she ended up buying me lunch, it sounds like the two of you had a wonderful date the other day."

Harry wanted to correct her but didn't; their walk had all the characteristics of a date. Considering their plans for the upcoming weekend he assumed Gabrielle had used their afternoon together as a dry run. "We did." He replied, dropping his previous attitude, keenly aware of the amusement on Ron's face. "We have more in common than I originally would have thought."

"You're both twats?" Ron chimed in, causing Harry to snort and Hermione to smile sanguinely.

"You both have twats is what my husband is trying to say." Hermione corrected.

The subtle effects he, Ron and Hermione had had on each other's personalities over the years had been one of the more interesting outcomes of what the Quibbler suspected was a polygamous marriage between the three.

"That and the complete lack of respect we get from people we thought were our family." He shot back before taking a bite of his bacon, lettuce, and tomato sandwich.

"Are you prepared for Scorpius's party?" Hermione countered, moving the conversation forward.

Prepared for the case? Prepared to observe? Yes. Prepared with the responsibility of dating Gabrielle Delacour? Not in the slightest.

"I'll manage." He said with a smile. He hadn't been on a second date since he started dating Ginny.

The attendees would include at least a dozen men or women who had, at one point in time, tried to kill him, and vice versa, including twiddle dee and twiddle dum, his other two suspects.

His friend smiled at him reassuringly. Occlumency couldn't hide his nerves from the brilliant woman across from him. _"Scary smart, that one." _Was the description Ron had given her during their third year, it was his most apt observation till he realized he could mimic Harry's parseltongue.

"Of course you will."

* * *

The narrow streets of the Rue de Passy had Harry feeling as though the passersby were on top of him. He thought to himself as he dipped his croissant into his black coffee, waiting for Gabrielle to arrive.

'_For our second date.' _ At that moment he realized he had lied to his friends. Today was date number two, tomorrow was date number three.

"_And you know what that means!" _He pictured a drunk Seamus elbowing him in the ribs, eyebrows wiggling suggestively.

He felt a tug on his occlumency and stood up to greet Gabrielle. Where most veela would have felt uncomfortable at the unwanted attention, Gabrielle ignored their subtle stares, a pleasant smile on her face as she strutted confidently towards him.

"_Je suis désolé, Harry."_ She said in rushed French.

Harry took a subtle glance around the street, chiding himself for not erecting some sort of privacy. "That's okay, Gabby." He said in English.

The Rue de Passy was less crowded than her sister street, Avenue des Champs Elysées, but it was by no means empty as people lined the alleys and packed the cafes, waiting for the dozens of boutiques packing the area to open.

Having finished his own croissant while waiting for Gabrielle he ordered himself another to go with her espresso and croissant with jam.

"Tell me, Harry." She said pleasantly, a hint of uncertain amusement in her voice. "Did George really promise Victoire a unicorn for her birthday, or is she just trying to guilt me into buying her a hippogriff."

He smiled. "A beautiful Golden Colt and its mother. Victoire only asked for the one but George felt guilty about separating it from its mother."

Gabrielle let out a frustrated 'harrumph.' Her nostrils flaring, squishing her nose into her sea blue eyes. "I'm going to kill that man."

Harry laughed heartily. "You, Bill, and Fleur." He said.

She let out another frustrated moan. "It's not like they can take it away from her, and now I have to top it."

She sighed and a comfortable silence ensued as Gabrielle ate.

"Harry." She whispered a few minutes later. "Look at that woman."

He followed her eyes to a woman in a gray shirt with a scarlet 'O' on it holding a leash with a child attached to the end of it, barking orders at the toddler, who was doing his best to wrestle control of the leash away from his mother.

He chortled in amusement before pointing out a gigantic man sporting a bright pink mohawk and multiple nose rings conversing with a tiny, bald woman covered in tattoos a hundred meters away.

Gabrielle cringed and the game continued until they'd finished breakfast and settled their bill.

Grabbing his hand, Gabrielle led him from the table and down the narrow street. "Hermione has really calmed down over the last few years." She said lightly as they turned right down into a side alley, the younger woman pausing to browse a rack of clothing in an open air shop. "The first few times I met her she was so…" Gabrielle paused for a long moment, letting silence settle in as she carefully chose her next words; "...standoffish. As though she had something to prove to the world."

War, failure, marriage. They all have a way of changing you. "I heard the two of you had lunch the other day."

Gabrielle's voice barely changed as she disappeared behind a curtain to try on a cream dress. "I've asked for her firms help with the ICW." She said casually as she stepped out from behind the curtain.

"Her resume paired with her reputation across the continent justifies her fee, I think Elder Monclair would agree."

There was a bit of a question in her last statement, as though she was seeking confirmation on the manner from him.

She spun slowly and Harry's breath caught in his chest momentarily. When she was done she stared at him expectantly with an eyebrow raised. "You look amazing." He said honestly, causing her to sigh.

"It's alright." She said dismissively as she looked herself over in the body length mirror. "Cream makes me look like a bitch." Gabby finished, disappearing behind the curtain once more.

Harry sighed in exasperation, sensing a long day ahead. "Hermione is the best." He agreed. "Though her reputation amongst the greater delegation takes a hit with the older and more traditional members." The Marcus Flint's and Vladislav Krum's of the world came to mind.

Gabrielle returned in her simple white and blue flower print sundress. "That's what Hugo is for." She placed her hand in his and they casually strolled down the street once more.

A companionable silence overtook them as they walked, chatting nonsensically about nothing in particular as the late September sun beat down on his face.

She laughed musically, her eyes hidden behind an oversized pair of sunglasses, her forehead shaded by an equally large hat while he squinted. "Why do men never plan for the weather?"

"I applied a sun block charm." He countered.

"Your eyes, Harry." She said with a bit of dismay. "They're too beautiful to be squinting like that."

He'd give her that. He never could remember sunglasses.

She fell into his arms dramatically, causing the muggles behind them to nearly crash into him, but he caught her. "At least you can still protect me!" She said, a self-amused tone to her voice.

"It takes more than a ditzy veela to catch me off guard." He retorted lightly.

She laughed. "Another insecure Warlock? I have no taste in men!"

He smiled. "Speaking of Warlock's…" Harry said, twisting his wristwatch and activating a privacy ward. "Your ex gave me the name of a new organization that has emerged as a competitor to the Malfoy's. Have you heard of 'The Monkey's Paw?'?"

She frowned and nodded in the negative. "You and Aiden are the intelligence officers, not me."

"Fair." He responded. "But if you hear anything about them, tomorrow or otherwise, let me know."

They bopped around the various shops at a frenetic pace - expertly dodging other patrons as Gabrielle took fault with everything they came in contact with.

"This makes me look like a whore."

"_Too _purple. I'm not a children's dinosaur."

"_Not _purple enough. It looks like it was purple at one point but got mixed in with the whites."

"I like it, but it's too heavy, I don't want to sweat. This is a garden party not hot yoga."

Harry, it turns out, was exceptionally easy to shop for; a patterned light blue jacket with matching pants and a white shirt, brown shoes and belt, and a pocket square matching whatever the hell she decided on.

They paused briefly for lunch at a cart before half-heartedly spending the afternoon shopping as they casually walked the city. It was about six in the evening when Gabrielle came to the stunning realization that she had the dress she wanted to wear in her closet all along.

"I apologize for dragging you around town like this, Harry." She said sheepishly, though he sensed a bit of sarcasm in her voice. "Let me buy you dinner."

She surprised him by choosing a small Italian restaurant on the edge of the Rue de Passy.

"Don't tell my sister, but I've always found French cuisine to be a bit overrated." She said between a bite of bruschetta.

When Fleur was tasked with rescuing the most _important _person in her life during the second task, the Ministry had kidnapped and sedated Gabrielle. He had always assumed the two to be particularly close but over the years he had learned that that just wasn't the case.

"Did you consciously choose to differentiate yourself from Fleur, or was it a happy accident?"

Gabrielle chewed slowly as she composed her answer, shooting him a peculiar look. "I didn't choose to differentiate myself from Fleur as much as Fleur chose to mimic our mother. She and I have never been particularly close."

He didn't push and Gabrielle went oddly silent for several moments.

The silence didn't bother Harry, a remnant of number four Privet Drive, he supposed. When you grow up in isolation silence becomes your friend.

"My mother resents me for my success." She said after a long moment. "I represent what she wanted for herself. She lacked the ambition, the charisma, the sheer will to accomplish her dreams and she's so self-absorbed that she can't take joy in her daughter's accomplishments."

He stayed silent for several long moments. "I'm sorry." He said finally, unsure of what else to say.

She smiled softly at him. "It's okay. I just get frustrated sometimes, that's all."

"I understand." He could understand frustration better than most. "I'm here, you know. If you want to talk." The words sounded lame to his own ears, but her smile filled the room. "Thank you, Harry." Gabrielle said sincerely.

They switched the subject after that, though the mood had changed to something a bit more intimate, and when the night ended sometime later and their hug lingered a little longer than acceptable, she ended it all with a light kiss.

* * *

**A/N:** I am well aware that Harry misquotes Muhammad Ali. Don't me. I'm going to cut off some of you right now; I'm fully aware that in canon this character wouldn't act that way, etc. They aren't in school, they're in their late twenties. People change.

**A/N 2: **I really _**really **_love the polar opposite reactions readers have had to the end of my other story, **"Path to Power." **Some of you loved it. Others really, and I mean _**really **_hated it. A small minority wanted to know.


	5. Chapter 5

**Disclaimer: **I don't own Harry Potter

* * *

The slight breeze on his face felt refreshing in the late September sun as the two veela and Harry waited patiently for security to finish their check of the couples in front of them.

"Poor planning on their part. We shouldn't have to wait in a line. None of us are simpletons. A rather underwhelming first impression for the '_social event of the season.'_" Elder Monclair scoffed.

Next to him Gabrielle smirked in amusement, her canary dress and pearl necklace shimmering in the light, she looked angelic.

He didn't look so bad himself in his patterned powder blue suit and white shirt left unbuttoned at the top, his silk, canary pocket square set in a distinct three peaks fold.

Annette in her light purple sundress and cream clutch with gold straps continued her diatribe, even as security turned to clear them. "Say what you will about your mother, Gabrielle; Apolline would have accounted for this in her planning." Gabrielle nodded dutifully but her lips pursed momentarily and his mind turned back to their date the previous evening and he understood her annoyance.

The realization that he knew something so personal about her warmed him, he doubted she shared such details with just anyone.

Their date the previous evening seemed to add weight to the afternoon and he fought the urge to reach for his flask, even as his right hand twitched in Gabby's left.

She gave him a small smile of her own, mistaking his twitch as annoyance at Annette's comment rather than a moment of weakness. He returned it as the host made himself known.

"I don't think all this is necessary, Andre." Lord Malfoy said with a sweeping gesture towards the trio, as he appeared on the balcony above. "We're all friends here."

He shot Harry a brief look of bemusement, which he returned. They may not like each other much, but there was a mutual need between the mercenary and the kingpin. Draco, for all his faults, had seemed to learn from his father's mistakes; avoiding revolution in favor of gambling and illegal goods. His extracurricular activities made him a prime target for the Warlock's when Harry was captain, and someone who needed protection from the Warlock's in Harry's more recent endeavors.

"Thank you, Lord Malfoy." Gabrielle said with a curtsy, cutting off Elder Monclair before she had a chance to respond.

He watched intently as, much to his surprise, Elder Monclair shot her protege an appreciative look, seemingly content to let Gabrielle facilitate.

"I'd like you to steer today, dear. I'd rather observe." Annette replied just loud enough for the three of them to hear.

Gabrielle nodded and plastered a charming half-smile on her face that just didn't seem to match the woman he had grown to know. "Harry you're here as my date so try and riff off what I'm saying while you observe?"

He nodded as they descended the winding steps into an open marble patio lined with a kaleidoscope of tulips.

Around the patio guests chatted amicably while a combination of squibs and muggleborns paraded around the garden in their white tuxedos, carrying trays of hors d'oeuvres and crystal flutes of champagne.

In the center of the patio stood a brilliant, lifesize ice sculpture of Lord and Lady Malfoy, as well as a much smaller Scorpius.

"Does Scorpius know he's having a birthday party?" Gabrielle muttered to him through a warm smile, nearly causing him to smirk.

With her on his arm and Annette at their side the trio casually wandered the patio, each with a flute of champagne. "This way, Harry." Gabrielle said pleasantly as he finished half the flute in one go.

"Lady Bones." Gabrielle said to the full-figured, curly haired redhead several meters ahead, drawing the former Hufflepuff's attention. "It's nice to see you again."

His classmate smiled brilliantly at them. Susan's centrist caucus had proven to be an effective diplomat between the traditionalists and rising muggleborn factions in the Wizengamot in the years following their defeat of Voldemort.

"Ambassador Delacour, Elder Monclair." Susan said with an unnecessary curtsy. "It's great to see you again." Susan shot him a coy look complete with a slight smirk. While the two had never been particularly close, Susan Bones was a loyal 'puff, and Dumbledore's Army taught her to survive. "Lord Potter-Black." She said with another, more sarcastic curtsy.

He rolled his eyes and they both laughed before embracing each other warmly. "It's good to see you again, Susan."

"And you, Harry." She said with a smile. "Congratulations to both of you." Susan said, turning her attention back to the veela. "Your efforts to gain a seat on the ICW through the years, Elder Monclair, are a truly inspiring story of leadership and perseverance. While Ambassador Delacour, you could teach a class in negotiation after the way you handled yourself in Prague!"

Gabrielle smiled. "Thank you Lady Bones. It was the first of many such negotiations. Negotiations that would be helped if you're caucus would move to unseat Wingert."

Harry and Annette stared at each other momentarily, a proud look on the older veela's avian face.

"You're upset with Minister Wingert's choice for the ICW?" Susan responded, ignoring Gabrielle's suggestion and digging to the root of the issue.

"Aren't you?" Gabrielle responded, taking a moment to glance towards Ambassador Flint, who was chatting with a rather uncomfortable looking Oliver Wood, who seemed to be flying solo for the afternoon. "Ambassador Flint is immensely arrogant and lacks tact. How much tax revenue did his tantrum with the American delegation cost Britain?"

Susan's smile thinned momentarily but she recovered in an instant. "At this time all I can do is guide Minister Wingert and the traditionalists to take a more neutral stance. Progress takes time."

That's why people hated moderates. Slow, steady progress took time and people were naturally impatient. The Daily Prophet went to petty extremes to discredit Susan's seemingly small victories. Despite this, candidates she backed almost always won. She was a far better politician than her late Aunt Amelia.

He excused himself, leaving the three women to talk as he made his way towards the bar, his eyes and thoughts turning back to Flint and Wood as he briefly considered rescuing the man from what appeared to be an increasingly uncomfortable situation. '_Best not to get dragged in.' _He reminded himself. The former Falmouth seeker turned private instructor was an open bigot and an imbecile, he was sure Oliver would survive.

"Double screwdriver please." He said politely to the olive skinned bartender with big brown eyes. She looked down at the moment their eyes met, her gaze pointed at the countertop as she set to work on his drink right as Draco Malfoy entered his periphery.

"Harry Potter at Malfoy Manor. I never thought I'd see the day." Malfoy said politely with a slight laugh as the bartender handed him his drink.

He took a sip of the stiff drink before turning his attention to his childhood nemesis. "Were you not here the last time I was? I can't remember, my attention was elsewhere." He quipped as the slightly older man frowned.

"All in the past now." He said as he silently took a drink from the pretty bartender who appeared to be keeping her distance.

He hummed noncommittally and waited for Malfoy to get to his point. "A mutual friend told me you couldn't acquire anymore muggle currency." Malfoy said casually.

Harry twisted his watch three times, a translucent dome descending upon them, enveloping the duo in privacy.

"Blame your man Wingert for that one, mate." He said sheepishly. "He agreed to increase funding for the ESC."

They both took a sip of their drinks. "Yes." Malfoy said plainly. "Politics is frustrating sometimes."

The two lords fell into silence for nearly a minute before Malfoy spoke again. "You don't actually think my organization had anything to do with those missing veela, do you?"

He didn't answer immediately, choosing to instead finish his drink as his eyes landed on the familiar forms of Vincent Crabbe and Gregory Goyle sitting at a table, staring dully out at the party.

"Your wife provided Gabrielle with some new information on one of the missing veela, Jaleena Laine?"

Draco sighed, finishing his own drink before his eyes sought out his wife, who was talking to her older sister animatedly near the ice sculpture. "I knew of her, yes." He said as Harry took a pull from his flask. "She was a stylist in Rome. The boutique she worked in had been used, in the past, as a money house for my import business."

"Was it in use in November of 2006?"

Malfoy shrugged. "Not by me, we moved out of Italy in late 2005 after the new regime took over."

Harry nodded. "How long was the boutique in use?"

Malfoy stared at him intently for a moment. "It had been in use for several years by then. My security team would have more information."

Pansy had been in security, Crabbe and Goyle too, before their falling out with their former boss.

"Who would have been in charge of overseeing the money houses?"

Malfoy laughed and Harry took another pull from his flask. "It had been Pansy until '04." Draco Malfoy responded.

Harry nodded, a picture forming in his mind. "Were Crabbe and Goyle part of her team?"

"Yes." Was all Malfoy said before excusing himself.

Feeling lighter, Harry grabbed a pair of champagne flutes and headed back towards Annette and Gabrielle who were talking animatedly with the Longbottoms near a water fountain in the back.

Gabrielle's eyes narrowed as she caught him, glancing at him before dropping her gaze towards the champagne.

He paid her no mind as he handed a flute to each of the veela causing Gabby to relax visibly as she thanked him and took a large sip.

"Good to see you mate." He said jovially to Neville, his face slightly flushed from the alcohol.

His old friend greeted him with a hug. "How've you been, Harry?" Neville asked, tilting his head to the side, showing off a faded scar on his left cheek, courtesy of Alecto Carrow.

"Not bad. Keeping busy with work. How's the plants, the kids?"

Professor Longbottom beamed. The father of three loved children. "They're doing great! It's incredible to watch them grow from year to year!" His friend rattled on. Harry could never understand Neville's passion for herbology just as Neville would never understand his lust for battle.

"You know, Harry." Neville started, drawing Harry back into the conversation. "Gryffindor plays Slytherin to kick off the season in a fortnight. You should come to the game, give them a pep talk!" The Head of Gryffindor asked hopefully. From what he understood Gryffindor hadn't won the cup since Ginny caught the snitch in her fourth year.

"Ehh. Maybe." He said, not wanting to commit to an afternoon at Hogwarts if he didn't have to.

Neville rolled his eyes but didn't push. "Anyways." Gabrielle interjected. "Neville I would appreciate it if you could get me a meeting with Headmaster Flitwick sometime this term; this crop of third years will be attending school with my niece and their education needs to begin as soon as possible."

Hannah Longbottom's eyes narrowed slightly at the demand but Neville calmed her with a hand on her forearm. "I can arrange for that." Neville began. "But speaking as a member of the Board of Governors, I must insist that any possible negotiation regarding veela safety is contingent upon the Zekanot's willingness to contribute to the overall security efforts."

Harry looked to Elder Monclair, expecting her to be the one to answer, but the older veela remained calm.

"We could have that discussion, but then I would have to point out to the international media that Hogwarts is willing to diversify, but only if the _creatures _pay for the trouble."

Neville's face hid his thoughts well, much better than they had when they were in school. "Let's table this discussion for another time."

"Agreed." Gabrielle said politely. "I'll be in touch."

The Longbottom's bid their goodbyes, leaving the trio alone once more.

"A little firm, dear. But effective nonetheless." Annette said warmly.

Gabrielle's smile was more annoyed than appreciative.

"What did Lord Malfoy have to say?" Gabrielle said, changing the topic.

He grabbed another flute of champagne from a passing waitress and took a sip.

"Another flute of champagne, Harry?"

"Yes." He said, not picking up on Annette's tone. "Malfoy used to use the boutique Jaleena Laine worked at as a money house prior to 2005. Pansy Parkinson, as well as Vincent Crabbe and Gregory Goyle worked on the team in charge of securing the money houses."

Gabrielle looped her arm in his as she finished her own champagne and moved them along.

He felt beads of sweat build on his forehead and it took all of his concentration not to stumble as they silently walked around the party, an issue that seemed to peeve his employer.

Gabrielle, however, either didn't seem to notice his struggles or ignored them as she continued to imbibe, her gaze settling on Flint. "This way, Harry. I wish to have a word with Ambassador Flint."

Marcus Flint was in conversation with Zacharias Smith when Gabrielle interrupted them. "Ambassador Flint." She said, her tone clipped, drawing the attention of those around them. "A word."

As they exchanged increasingly heated words his attention turned to Zacharias Smith as the taller man eyed Gabrielle hungrily, causing his own skin to crawl.

He took another sip from his flask before turning to Blaise Zabini. "What's Smith doing here."

The black man took on a disgusted look, his eyes not leaving the impending fight in front of him. "You can't not invite a member of the Smith family, even if they are disgraced."

The man in question took that moment to interject himself into Flint and Gabrielle's conversation. "Marcus, leave it." The man's voice was firm though his smile was easy.

He took that moment to turn and leer at Gabrielle directly. "Though they are such beautiful creatures." Smith said, casually highlighting the perception Gabrielle had fought so hard to change.

Flint smiled and extended his hand towards Gabrielle's face, reaching out to stroke her chin. "Yes they - "

Harry didn't let the man finish his sentence as his severing curse removed Flint's hand at his wrist, leaving the man howling in pain as blood sprayed over the gathering crowd.

In response Smith stepped up angrily. "You're drunk, Potter! You could have killed it!" He said gesturing towards Gabrielle, who seemed to have her anger directed at Smith, giving him a slight boost in confidence.

"Yes, but not drunk enough to fondle a fifth year."

"That's enough!" Malfoy yelled angrily over the commotion. "Both of you, out. Now."

He reached for Gabrielle but Annette' stopped him. He turned to her and was greeted with an angry face. "Go home, Potter. We'll be in touch." She said, before her and Gabrielle left him alone at the front gates.

* * *

Her pace slowed as she approached Harry's shop, nervous despite herself. Her great aunt had not been pleased with either of their behavior.

"_Selfish, the both of you." _ Elder Monclair had been right, they had been selfish, and she had been given an ultimatum. "_Fire him or find a way to keep him under control."_

She walked into the spacious shop to the sound of quill scratching on parchment.

"Good…" his eyes twitched towards his muggle wristwatch, sapphire and crystal framed by eighteen karat pink gold and an alligator skin strap, if she were to guess. "...morning Gabrielle."

Though Harry had tried to remain casual she could hear the rise in his heartbeat and see the tapping of his fine, tan leather boot on the cherrywood floorboards.

'_He knows he's fucked up.' _The realization calmed her and gave her a bit of reassurance. Harry needed structure, she thought convincing him would be the bulk of the battle.

With a flick she summoned a second chair and placed it between herself and Harry before sitting down.

Using her right hand she brushed a strand of honey blonde from her face and put on a small smile. "Flint's a real cunt." She started, forcing a bit of French accent into her voice.

Harry visibly relaxed, his heartbeat steadying and a smile forming on his lips despite her subtle seduction.

'_Good.' _

"I believe it's their family motto."

She laughed merrily. "Mims!" She called, summoning a wrinkled, middle aged house elf.

Mims bowed deeply before waiting at attention for instructions. "Harry this is Mims. Mims will fix your meals and handle the shops finances and day-to-day chores."

He looked at her for a long, expressionless moment before nodding his head slightly in acceptance.

She smiled brightly and his face lit up, highlighting a set of perfect teeth and handsome dimples.

"Mims, lunch please." The elf nodded and disappeared silently, returning several moments later with a light salad.

"How are you?" she began as they ate.

He was dressed relatively well in khaki pants, a white oxford covered by a black cashmere cardigan was completed with a plain red tie.

His bites were small and his posture was perfect as he chewed silently, his hand in his lap, waiting for the proper moment to compose his response.

"I've been a bit better. It's been awhile since I've embarrassed myself on the job. I'm sorry for that, by the way."

His accountability was worth more than the apology. "Neither of us put on a good show yesterday." She said with a small smile. "Though the day wasn't a complete loss. The information you coaxed from Malfoy should give you a starting point."

"Yes." He said, mildly distracted.

She waited patiently for him to get there, giving him space to form his thoughts.

"Most of the people at that party have tried to kill me, either directly or indirectly, at some point. Others, like the owner of the Prophet, Harold Gladwyck, traded in misinformation and slander against a child. They're tough to be around, sometimes."

She sipped her raspberry lemonade in thought while she composed herself. "That's a little pathetic, Harry. If I'm being honest."

He looked up more confused than hurt. "You're situation may have been more extreme than most. But you're hardly the only person to grow up with unwanted attention, or to be neglected, bullied, and abused." She didn't know when it happened but at some point she had stood up and started pacing.

She slammed both her palms on the desk and leaned forward so her head was inches apart and above Harry's. "You make all of these complaints, Harry, as if you don't have a charmed life. Even without access to your vaults you've built an above-average life for yourself by utilizing and preying on those same people you deride. You've inspired the loyalty of an entire generation and altered the course of history and you're not even thirty. Quite feeling so damn sorry for yourself before you irreparably tarnish your name. "

Gabrielle sat down and shut her eyes to calm herself. This isn't the track she wanted to go down. "But I get it. This week was a bit much and it's my fault." She took a deep breath. "I'm not good with relationships, platonic or otherwise."

He waited patiently and she felt reassured by his mature reaction to her little fit, despite her own insecurities surrounding the whole situation. "I've bought a townhome in Whisper Alley, Harry. I'll see you for breakfast everyday at half seven."

She got up to leave but he stopped her. "I'm not some pity project, Gabrielle."

She trembled slightly. She had been hoping to avoid the emotional talk, maybe it could still be stymied? "I like you, Harry. Despite your flaws. If I didn't than I wouldn't have continued to refer to our outings as dates." She drew him in close and smiled softly before placing a reassuring kiss on his lips. "I'll see you tomorrow."

* * *

The grandiose room was small, illuminated by a dozen or so candles reflecting off an ornate diamond chandelier.

"I'll call." Miles slurred.

Harry had to resist the urge to roll his eyes. His friend was drunk, but not that drunk, part of his grander strategy to lure the men across from him into a false sense of security.

There was a trio of poker tables in the square, windowless room with a fine wooden bar manned by a lean, pale man in a tuxedo.

To the right of the bar was the only visible exit guarded by two more pale men in tuxedos, though he knew from the blueprints that there was an unseen exit stationed in the coat closet.

Harry's eyes caught those of RipClaws and he smirked, causing the goblin to scrunch his haggard face, and display his fanged teeth in anger; it was, afterall, RipClaws dragon that he had killed the last time he was in his family's bank.

"That'll be it for me, mates!" His friend yelled out in joy, grabbing the dozen or so galleons in the middle of the pot before counting out a few extra from his winnings for the dealer and leaving the table.

"Harry, mate, let's grab an early breakfast, I'm buyin'!"

As they turned to leave Harry blew a kiss over his shoulder towards RipClaw and exited the casino with a smile.

"Whatcha got goin' on in the morning, mate?" Harry asked between bites of his egg sandwich.

Miles eyes narrowed and he gave out a disgusted grunt as he took a swig from his flask. "Lisa's draggin' me out to that creep Smith's shop to do some antiquing; apparently the cottage is in need of a remodel." His friend said with a roll of his eyes.

It had been quite the scandal for the Smith family, the heir to the Hufflepuff title caught drugging and fondling prefects.

Professor Smith had to resign after that. Rumor had it that Lord Smith had distanced his eldest son from the family after the incident, going insofar as naming Zacharias's younger brother heir to the fortune and titles.

As Miles blabbered on about Smith's shop Harry's thoughts drifted back to Malfoy's party; "_You could have killed it!" _

Smith was trash, always had been.

"Where's that bastard's shop again?" Harry chimed in.

"Brighton. And don't even get me started on _that…_"

Harry tuned him out again. Victim number three, Harriet Meyers, last seen in Brighton on the afternoon of February fifth two thousand and six.

* * *

Her hand fidgeted in his as they trapezed around the spacious garden at the Burrow, zig-zagging through the throngs of children and carnival games and towards her niece, who was stroking the still golden mane of Elmer, the unfortunately named unicorn colt gifted to Victoire by her uncle George.

"Aunt Gabrielle! Uncle Harry!" The tiny bundle of fire squealed as she handed the reigns of Elmer to Fleur before launching herself at the pair.

"Thank you, thank you, thank you for Donald!"

"Yes." Fleur deadpanned. "Thank you for the hippogriff and its mother."

Gabrielle smiled innocently, ignoring her older sisters latent anger at what was, objectively, an inappropriate gift for an eight year old. "You are most welcome, mon cheri." She said sweetly before turning to Fleur.

"I was not about to let George outclass me." She said, shooting a glance towards George, who was dressed as a clown animating balloon animals for Rose and another child.

"And you." Fleur started, this time rounding on Harry. "That book teaches her how to emasculate a man!"

Harry rolled his eyes and Gabrielle had to cover her mouth to hide her smile. "Exactly, Fleur." He said as though it was the most obvious thing in the world. "She's years away from being able to master that spell. That's why I gave her specific instructions on how to master the basics first. It was Hermione's idea."

Fleur rolled her eyes, though the facade was breaking.

"It's great to see you, Fleur." Harry said, embracing his old friend warmly.

"You too, Harry." Her sister replied. "You two look good together."

"Thank you." She said. "How's the pottery coming?" Fleur was a brilliant witch with a housewives ambition. She could have done just about anything with her life yet had chosen to raise children and take on muggle hobbies instead.

"It's going well." Her sister responded with a bit of enthusiasm. Fleur had always loved to work with her hands, excelling at both herbology and potions at Beauxbatons. "Though I allowed my turtle bowl to elongate a bit, it's more of an armadillo now." She said with a slight frown.

Gabrielle smiled softly. "Perfect for serving homemade pasta, family style."

Fleur beamed. Her sister had confidence issues and had a habit of giving up when she couldn't meet her own wildly unrealistic expectations.

Next to her Harry wore a patient smile on his face as he gently grasped Victoire's tiny right wrist in his own right hand and carefully guided her through a basic piercing curse.

He was good with her. A skill he was forced to learn while leading Dumbledore's Army through some of the darkest times in European history. Hundreds of hours spent training the heirs and heiresses of Britain to defend themselves against tyranny had paid dividends. A skill he had honed further while leading the Warlocks against Theodore Nott and his bloody conquest against the werewolves.

"Preforo!" Her niece shouted as a faint red curse shot out of her cherry wood wand, cutting through the leg of a table.

Harry fixed the leg without a sound and without moving his wand and turned back to his mentee. "Very good Victoire!" He said appreciatively to the beaming child. "Do you remember what I told you about breathing and emotion?"

Victoire scrunched her nose in concentration. "Keep your emotions even and your voice steady." She recited. "But I don't even know what that _means _Uncle Boy-Who-Lived!"

Harry snorted and Gabrielle wondered if anyone else in the world would receive that reaction from him. "It means to speak clearly and not yell your spells."

She turned back to Fleur who was smiling. "I heard you two made quite an impression at Lord and Lady Malfoy's residence last weekend."

"It was nothing." Gabrielle said, waving her sister off. "Shit happens and we move on."

"Yes." Fleur said skeptically. "And you used that shit show as an excuse to move to London, to woo him?" Fleur said, gesturing to a still preoccupied Harry.

Gabrielle nearly lost control of her emotions. She did not move to London for a man. "I'm here to grow closer to the Hogwarts Board of Governors and to work on improving our relationship with the British, I'm here for _your _daughter." She said forcefully, not liking the implication.

"And you thought the best way to do that was to get drunk with your boyfriend, offend the wife of a board member, and disparage your counterpart in the ICW before your date removed his hand?"

Gabrielle forced the anger from her face. She didn't need this shit from Fleur. "Relations will improve. I'm sure of it. I have a meeting with Headmaster Flitwick next week."

"Ummhmm." Fleur replied in doubt. Causing her to nearly snap in anger. Thankfully Harry chose that moment to grab her hand. "Shall we grab some food?"

Gabrielle smiled at him in appreciation as they turned to walk away. "Do you have your flask?" She asked hopefully as she spotted her mom near the buffet table, eyeing them predatorily. He gave her an apologetic look. "I thought it best to leave it at home after last time." He said quietly.

She sighed. "You're right." She said as Apolline descended upon them. "Harry Potter meet Apolline Delacour, Apolline meet my boyfriend, Lord Harry Potter-Black."

"Councilwoman Delacour, a pleasure."

Despite her mother's pettiness she didn't publicly disagree with her aunt Annette, a politically savvy move that came with its own benefits.

Her mother smiled. "It's wonderful to meet you, Lord Potter."

"Likewise councilwoman. It's so nice to see you were able to make it back to England."

Gabrielle kept the smile off her face at the dig; her mother did not enjoy the Burrow or the Weasley family. She found them to be a bit odd; interesting, considering how Apolline thought Gabrielle should be behaving.

Her mother smiled; the two were almost identical, except her mother's teeth were stained from coffee. "It's rare I find the need!" Apolline responded with a laugh. "With how often Fleur and Victoire visit, hardly a month goes by without lunch with my daughter and granddaughter!"

Harry's grip tightened on her hand and a warmth shot through her. "I suppose the Burrow is a bit chaotic." He said sheepishly.

The change in his tone, his facial expressions, both were subtle but easy to decipher for those who were paying attention. "You're more of a homebody, from what I hear."

Apolline smiled but didn't rise to the bait. "Fortunately I have a daughter who's exploits never fail to entertain! I can live vicariously through her!"

"And we're all fortunate for that!" He said as he leaned in to give her a lingering peck on the lips.

She smiled. "It was nice catching up."

When they were out of earshot Harry leaned in until his lips brushed her ear lobes, sending shivers down her spine. "She has the charm and spark of a young Leona Helmsley."

She couldn't help it as her smile spilled over into full blown laughter as they approached Molly.

"You two look as though you're having fun." Molly observed as Gabrielle disentangled herself from a bemused Harry.

"It's been a wonderful afternoon, Molly, thank you." Harry said casually as he embraced the large woman in a hug.

"Anything for my granddaughter." Molly said.

"Yes. That does seem to be the theme of the day." Harry said dryly as his gaze fell over the various trinkets and livestock that had begun to assemble itself in the garden.

"You looked at home teaching Victoire, Harry." Molly said as her surrogate son sipped a butterbeer. "Between Uncle Harry and Aunt Gabby, Victoire has a brilliant support structure."

She caught Harry's eye and smiled. She sure does Molly, thank you.

Gabrielle followed Harry's lazy lead as they chatted with the various guests over the course of the next hour until a moment of privacy gave Harry the moment she thought they both needed.

"What can you tell me about Harriet Meyers?"

Gabrielle frowned at the unexpected question but soon found her wits. "Not much. She was a loaner, she inherited some land in Brighton a few months prior to her disappearance. Outside of being registered with the Zekanot, she was outside our purview."

Harry frowned. "I may have a lead to follow up on in regards to her disappearance."

She felt guilty, but at the moment she didn't care. "We can talk about it in the morning, Harry." She said pleasantly, a bit of suggestion in her voice.

Harry smiled and grabbed her hand, dropping the subject as they went to say their goodbyes.

* * *

Her dull brown eyes never left the black creature with thick black hair down to its shoulders fifty meters ahead of her. Watching as the veela casually went about its day.

Pansy felt a vibration in her pocket and glanced down at her phone. She smiled as she read the message before shooting one of her own off to Crabbe and Goyle before picking up her pace.

She bumped into the younger veela as she passed, grabbing its purse as she did so.

"HEY!" The black veela shouted as she took off after Pansy in a sprint.

'_Damn it's fast.' _

She felt the veela gaining on her as she rounded the corner, the storefront in sight.

'_Twenty meters. Ten meters. Almost there…' _

She heard a loud crash behind her as she entered the store and knew the goons had done their job, earning her another five thousand galleons guaranteed.

"I bet she fetches double the others." Goyle exclaims as he groped the creature before activating the portkey and disappearing.

Pansy sighed as she activated her own portkey. '_How many times do I have to tell them?' _

"Hands off the merchandise, boys." She said as she levelled her wand at Crabbe.

"Yes, Pansy." They replied at once.

Pansy nodded sharply before turning on her heel and levitating the veela down a row of unused cells, pausing at the one furthest from the door and throwing it in.

She heard a whimper from across the hall and smiled to herself. The whimper represented a healthy commission.

"How much ya think these two will fetch, Crabbe?"

The larger of the two took a look at the haggard looking mother and daughter. "At least one hundred thousand." He said. "They're pretty."

His sausage fingers grasped the bars of the cell as he looked at the adolescent veela attempting to hide behind its mother, hungrily.

'_They better fetch more than that.' _Those two had attracted too much attention.

"We'll know soon enough, boys." She said confidently as she stared at the cowering duo with contempt in her brown eyes. "They go to market tomorrow."

* * *

**A/N: **Merry Christmas!


	6. Chapter 6

**Disclaimer: **I do not own HP

**A/N: **As a reminder this story is rated '**M.' **Also, for those who did not know, I update my profile periodically to give you an update on where I stand with the current chapter. While I appreciate the support the story is getting, flooding my inbox asking for an update won't get you a response.

* * *

"Gentlemen" she said as she passed through the large double doors separating the garden from the atrium with an extra bit of a sway in her hips, keenly aware that four sets of eyes would be following her as she sauntered across the room with purpose, only pausing for a long moment to check her figure in the body length mirror separating the atrium from the rest of the estate.

Examining herself she frowned slightly, happy she had taken the moment to stop. Straightening the white collar of her oxford so that the buttons aligned with the "V" in her navy blue Loro Piana v-neck sweater, Parvati practiced - first her more casual, disarming smile; then a more coy smile, completing the act by brushing a thick strand of glistening brown hair behind her ear, highlighting her almond shaped face and dark brown eyes.

Satisfied with her preparedness, Parvati blanked her features and kept to her path.

Past the mirror there was nothing on the walls. No portraits, just darkness. The familiarity of the winding hallway was all that kept her from getting lost in the labyrinth of the vast estate.

Parvati reached out with her left hand and grasped the unseen doorknob loosely before twisting it and stepping into a loud, dank dungeon.

She frowned at the lack of security at the front door. "Alfonso!" She called, her calm voice cutting through the screams and sobs.

"No. No. No! I won't!" A frightened, hysterical voice called out. "Be quiet and put on the damn dress." A second voice, that of an adolescent male, replied.

Parvati sighed. "The incompetence of these people is astounding." She said to herself as her Gianvito Rossi boots echoed through the dungeon as she entered the cell.

Parvati silenced the wailing veela who had stationed herself between her young daughter, the dress on the floor, and the door, with a flick.

"Boss said we aren't to use magic on the merch." The burly Italian said to a chorus of nods.

Plastering her recently-practiced 'coy' smile on her face, Parvati brushed a loose strand of wavy brown hair behind her ear and closed the distance between herself and Alfonso, reaching out to grab his red tie as she approached, straightening the knot as she smiled beautifully at the younger man. "Let me worry about them." She purred with a pat to Alfonso's hard chest before turning her attention to the mother-daughter combo cowering in the corner. "What's the problem?"

"She's a biter." One of Alfonso's charges spoke for the group. "And a kicker. She's a biter and a kicker."

Parvati nodded in acceptance. "Mumps!" She said sweetly, summoning a cleancut elf dressed as a maitre d. "Lunch for three, please."

The elf nodded once and disappeared briefly, returning a moment later with a tray of food and a pitcher of juice.

"Thank you." She said pleasantly as she conjured a small, circular table and several chairs before returning her attention to her guests.

"Please, eat." She said gesturing to the food.

When neither mother nor daughter made any move towards the food Parvati let out a small sigh and grabbed a sandwich before taking a bite. "I won't be harming you, I promise." She said as the duo looked at her skeptically.

She rolled her eyes. "Why would I harm my commission?"

Marissa's eyes widened in terror as she glanced towards her daughter.

Parvati let out another sigh before hitting the younger veela with a stunner. "You're right." She said to Marissa. "No need for her to hear this."

The fetching young mother appeared frozen. "Here's the deal, Marissa. Tonight you and your daughter will be auctioned off to the highest bidder. She said casually, waving half a turkey sandwich in front of the creatures face as she did so. "Cooperate and I'll push to have you and Tara auctioned as a package."

Marissa stared at her with terror in her eyes, drawing Parvati's curiosity. What was Marissa feeling right now? Terror, that much was obvious. She could see it in the woman's face. She could smell it dripping down her leg. But terror at what? There were so many possibilities.

"Remain a nuisance and I will personally buy your daughter and butcher her myself, in front of you."

The younger veela began to shake as she openly wept.

"It must be difficult, I know." Parvati said, her tone suggesting that if she knew she certainly did not care. "But try and make the best of these last few hours. I'll be back to fetch you this evening." She said as she grabbed another sandwich, leaving the rest of the plate for the veela.

"Do try and eat, the both of you. You look sickly." She said with faux concern as she left the cell with a glance at her watch. "Now if you'll excuse me, I'm late for a meeting with a colleague."

* * *

Gabrielle laughed loudly at his joke as she squirmed under the covers before resting her head on his chest.

He smiled easily as the rising sun reflected off her golden hair, an equally easy smile rested on her diamond shaped face.

"Ughh." Gabrielle groaned in disappointment as she sat up and got out of bed, much to his chagrin. Sighing he joined her as he picked up his clothes off the floor.

"What's on the docket today, _Lord _Potter." She teased as she slipped on her blouse.

He laughed as he fastened his pants and buttoned his light grey shirt before tapping his head with his wand to freshen up. "I'm going to do some research into Crabbe and Goyle this morning before training with Aiden this afternoon."

Her face contorted into a sour look at the mention of his mentee as she did his hair for him. "Don't mention my ex while in my bedroom ever again, Harry." She said, placing a gentle kiss on his lips.

He felt light on his feet as they descended the stairs of her loft into a spacious living room with high arching ceilings that gave way to a rather large dining area. "Do you have a moment for breakfast?" Gabrielle asked hopefully causing his smile to widen. This was nice. This was easy. "Only if you do."

She checked her watch. "I have an hour till my meeting with Hermione and Hugo."

Harry imagined it caused a bit of controversy within the veela community, allowing a non-member of the Zekanot to negotiate on behalf of the veela's governing body. Ambassador's were appointed by the High Council, the Zekanot was elected by the flocks.

"Does that ruffle any feathers with the Zekanot? Councilwoman Delacour?"

Gabrielle smiled softly. "I am hiring them on behalf of the Zekanot in advancing our rights within the ICW, it is well within my job description to hire whoever I damn please to advance our mutual cause. As for my mother? She toes the line, at least publicly. That's why Elder Monclair allows her petty games."

He nodded thoughtfully. "You're using your discretionary budget."

"Yes." She said. "The Zekanot had to approve Elder Monclair and the High Council's nominee, then they had to approve the budget. It would be rude if they didn't let me use it as I see fit. Anyways, after that I'm having lunch with Headmaster Flitwick to discuss preparations for Victoire." She paused to stare at him thoughtfully. "I'd really like it if you could be there, I'm told you're still quite popular at Hogwarts. It's at half two in the Headmaster's office."

That may have been an understatement. Several years after the war the Creevey brothers had gathered enough signatures petitioning for a 'House Potter' to be added to the school charter that he actually had to issue a statement. He nodded. "I haven't seen Filius in a while, it will be nice to catch up."

On the table Gabrielle's phone vibrated several times. "Excuse me for a second, Harry." She said apologetically as she stepped away.

The dining room was large with a massive, singular piece of glass extending in either direction providing a picturesque view of not only Whisper and Diagon Alley's, but Memorial Park as well.

The dining room bled into a full chef's kitchen with equally stunning views where a pale Gabrielle was standing with fresh tears in her eyes, setting off alarm bells in his mind.

Clutching her phone, Gabrielle re-entered the dining room slowly before speaking loudly into the speaker. "Please tell Harry what you just told me, Annette."

The somber voice of Annette Monclair filled the room. "Yesterday afternoon Sabrina Laroux went missing in Paris on her way to meet a friend for lunch."

Harry checked the date on his watch - '_Oct. 6' _\- and frowned. It had been less than two months since Marissa and Tara had gone missing. "They're accelerating."

"Yes." She said. "Unfortunately we don't know much else."

"Send me the last known location of Sabrina and I'll check it out."

He could almost see Annette's head nod in affirmation. "Done."

The line went dead and he turned to face Gabrielle. "Would you like to come with?"

Gabrielle stared at him in confusion. "I have several meetings today, Harry. I hired you so the job would get done properly and I could focus on what I'm good at."

* * *

He appeared in a tidy, empty metal dumpster that the Warlock's used as a hideaway from time to time and climbed out, rounding the corner onto the busy muggle road and towards the location that Annette had sent to him.

Sabrina Laroux had gone missing on her way to meet a friend at a location several blocks from where he and Gabrielle had gone shopping a few days prior.

His thoughts shifted to Gabrielle and his arm twitched towards the pocket with his phone as he fought the urge to text her, she had made it abundantly clear that she had other things that needed to be done.

He picked up his pace, covering the distance to the outdoor cafe where Sabrina was supposed to meet with an unknown friend.

He made a mental note to return to the reserve in Menton in the morning before taking a look around the area.

To the east was the Seine; Sabrina had been returning to Passy from her weekly stop at her father's floral shop across from the Eiffel Tower. Her father told the authorities that his daughter had left his shop twenty minutes before her email calendar said she was due to meet someone for lunch.

Arriving at Felipe Laroux's shop, Harry skipped the interview for the moment and headed down Pont d'lana till he reached Place de Varsovie and hung a right, continuing on his path until he reached Avenue Paul Doumer and his end destination - a charming cafe around the corner from a long alley connecting several streets.

He took a few moments to observe the area, quickly identifying several security cameras before heading back towards where he had come from, looking for a gap in the CCTV coverage. Seeing none, he frowned and returned back to the cafe to get himself a coffee before taking a seat outside.

There was nothing out of the ordinary about the particular intersection. There wasn't an abundance of tourists, the streets weren't congested, nor were there any flashy muggle advertisements luring people to one particular product or another. Rather the neighborhood was lively, but in a more communal way. Around him neighbors chatted animatedly while a group of children strutted about confidently, laughing loudly but otherwise causing no trouble. This wasn't the type of neighborhood where you would expect an abduction.

A tingling in his mind had Harry resisting the urge to clamp down on his occlumency, confident that his false memories would occupy whoever was trying to break in as he nonchalantly searched the decidedly muggle area for the legilimens amongst them, unwilling to let them know he was aware of their presence.

At the table on the other end of the patio a quartet of moderately dressed middle aged woman with glasses of wine chatted animatedly, the one closest to the street occasionally glancing his way.

At the countertop just inside the door he was aware of the young, black barista glancing in his general direction. '_Or is he stealing glances at his boyfriend behind me?' _

He didn't know but the bought of legilimency didn't abide, if anything it got stronger, forcing him to double down on his outer defences as he calmly left the cafe to get a better view of the area from across the street.

Occlumency had never been his strongest skill set. Regardless of his self-serving good-deeds towards the end of the war, deeds which had gained him some admiration from Hermione, of all people; Harry wasn't able to look past the petty, sadistic methods employed on him by Severus Snape, the dead cunt. Harry held him responsible for his decidedly average mind defenses. A breach of his outer walls would force him to concentrate fully, leaving him physically exposed. He couldn't allow that to happen. He had to move. Now.

His unseen opponent doubled down on their attack, causing Harry to feel lightheaded, dizzy, and vulnerable as he hastily made his way down the sidewalk. In his periphery he heard the sound of scooters whizzing by as friends pushed by him, cursing at him in rapid bouts of French.

He moved about recklessly as the attack intensified further, extending his defences to their limits as he bumped into people at random, a drizzle of warm blood running down his nose and into his mouth, he looked like a drug addict. No longer was he trying to find the source of the attack as much as he was trying to escape it.

He felt a creeping nausea gain hold in his stomach. Whoever was attacking him was doing so with great vigor, he thought as he emptied the contents of his stomach onto the hard sidewalk, ignoring the sounds of indignation from the woman to his right.

In desperation Harry took off at a jog, desperate to escape the attack.

Then it stopped and he regained his senses, only to leave him groaning at the sight before him. "What the hell are you doing here?" He spat out to Margaret Fawcett, head of the Warlocks, as he tried to regain his senses - showing weakness in front of this woman was never a smart idea.

"It's good to see you too, Potter." The old bitch, dressed in her tell-tale white blouse and royal blue blazer, replied sarcastically.

Behind him the distinct laughter of Aiden preceded a slap on the shoulder. "Good to see you here, mate."

"Wish I could say the same about you." Harry replied. How did the Warlocks beat him here? The amount of bureaucracy and red-tape that needed to be jumped over to get the Warlocks involved in a disappearance, of all things, was exceptional. The inefficiency was one of over a dozen reasons why he had left. "What are you doing here?"

"We could say the same about you, Potter." The old bitch responded tersely, her eyes squinting, highlighting her crows feet.

Margaret Fawcett had been an Unspeakable during Tommy's first _revolution _when she had pitched the idea of an elite military unit made up of the best of Britain and her allies. Bagnold rejected her proposal. Fudge did not; giving the old pureblood carte blanche to do with the unit as she saw fit. What she created was a diverse tactical unit that thrived in chaos and excelled in brutality.

Harry rolled his eyes at her before turning his gaze towards Aiden.

"I have been hired by Elder Monclair and the Zekanot to investigate."

The bitch made no move to respond.

"The French Ministry invited us to investigate, Harry." Aiden responded, a bit of condescension in his tone, his need to feel superior always shining through.

Harry smiled at his friend before turning to Fawcett. "The ICW is clear on the issue, Mags."

He smiled internally as the old bitch twitched ever-so-slightly at the nickname he had gifted her. She wouldn't dare, she was too smart to try and curse him. "The ICW has recognized the Zekanot. The charter is clear on the issue; I'm the lead investigator." He said before a coy smile found its way to his lips. "Though you and your rag-tag group of assholes are happy to assist in my investigation."

She stared at him for a long, cold moment; the intensity of her gaze nearly making him shutter, he was having trouble controlling himself after the attack.

"Fine." She quipped. "Team." She said, drawing the attention of the investigating Warlock's.

He knew not one of them, except for Aiden. '_They're new.' _So why was Aiden here? Surely the fresh meat didn't need both Margaret Fawcett _and _their commander for a disappearance.

"Move out." Fawcett concluded.

Almost simultaneously five Warlock's disappeared from the scene in near silence.

"Impressive." Harry said without turning to look at his mentee. "They're almost completely silent."

"Yeah." Aiden responded, a tinge of annoyance in his voice. "Gryffs will make a fine Warlock, but he's not there yet."

By the end of his statement Aiden's annoyance had turned to determination.

"Sometimes the best are a little rough around the edges." Harry quipped.

They turned to face each other and both smiled. Harry had found Aiden working private security in cowboy country. His spells had been overpowered, his accuracy had needed work, he wasn't remotely qualified from an academic standpoint, and he had a serious lack of self-control. But merlin could he sling 'em.

"How's the case going, Harry." Aiden said casually. Harry grimaced and rubbed his faded scar. "I faced a serious legilimency attack a bit a go while investigating." He said in annoyance.

Aiden nodded slowly. "The baddies must know you're here. Did you repel them?"

"They didn't get in." He said. "Did you find anything?"

Aiden shook his head. "We got here five minutes before you. The old bitch barely had time to set up a perimeter."

Harry nodded. "Let me know if you hear anything."

Aiden smiled widely, his white teeth glistening in the sun. "Will do boss!" He said with a salute.

Harry replied with a salute of his own as his friend disappeared silently, leaving him alone at the scene.

Moving over to the wardstone, Harry quickly re-adjusted the parameters so that only he had access to the crime scene and set to work pacing the outer perimeter.

The vacant storefront had an exit that led to a narrow alley lacking camera coverage.

Standing outside the door he cast a quick diagnostics charm and smiled. Four magical signatures were present, three of which were masked, the fourth belonging to the victim.

The windows inside the store were covered by white linens, blocking most of the buildings natural light.

Lighting his wand, Harry turned to his left towards the main entrance, his eyes diverted towards the dusty floor looking for hints.

He had seen two pairs of footprints in the alley entrance and was working under the assumption that once Crabbe and Goyle entered the building they split up, one on each side of the door frame, ready to ambush Sabrina as Pansy forced her into the front entrance of the store.

Following the larger of the two pairs of footprints, Harry broke wide and towards the right, careful not to disturb the set of footprints that came to a stop next to the door.

Taking a quick picture, he muttered some notes into his recorder before approaching the door and entering a crouch, he examined the floor and smiled a grim smile; on the other side of the door frame sat three other sets of footprints. One male, two female, if he were to guess based on size and shape.

Snapping another picture, Harry took the long route to the left side of the door frame and entered a crouch once more, he grimaced.

Blood splatter, four small stains with an abundance of saliva. He took a small sample, placing it securely in his pocket, he continued his examination.

"Victim appears to have been bludgeoned across the head by a..." He said into his recorder once more as his vision shifted to the rest of the store before landing on an out of the way corner and a folding chair reflecting the light from his wand. "...muggle folding chair, grey." He concluded snapping several more pictures and examining the area once more. "There are no footprints leading up to the chair. If I were to guess the perpetrators tossed it haphazardly across the floor."

Approaching the chair Harry removed a small vial of lycopodium powder and a duster.

One of the many faults in the pureblood supremacist ideology was their inability to conform to the times. Just because _they _refused to adopt muggle techniques when they were beneficial didn't mean _nobody _did.

He smiled as he collected samples of the fingerprints on the chair, willing to bet his savings that they matched the sample of either Crabbe or Goyle that he had collected in France.

* * *

She frowned almost imperceptibly as the scent of the spicy tobacco hit her nose. "Must you smoke in here, Hugo?" Hermione said by way of habit, well aware of what her partner's response would be.

The middle aged man with grey hair and a pot belly smiled softly. "We are in my office, Hermione."

The younger woman nodded in agreement. "Yes, but we have company." She said, gesturing towards the attractive veela with an amused look on her face.

"I do not mind, Hermione, Mr. Reaves." Gabrielle said with a smile. The veela then closed her pretty blue eyes and sniffed the air. "A good cigar should only be lit once."

"I like her!" Hugo replied, stogie between his fingers as he reached out to shake Gabrielle's hand. "Hugo Reaves, at your service, Ambassador Delacour." Gabrielle smiled before turning to face her briefly. "You work with such a gentleman, Hermione!"

For all his projected confidence, her partner was wildly insecure and the flattery from someone of Gabrielle's stature would go a long way towards building a meaningful relationship. She wondered if Gabrielle knew that?

"Mr. Reaves - " She began.

"Please, Ambassador. Call me Hugo."

Gabrielle smiled endearingly. "Hugo - could I trouble you for one of those cigars?"

Hermione hid her annoyance as Hugo giddily cut Gabrielle a cigar before handing her a single match. "I know you could use your wand, my dear, but there is a certain pageantry to the muggle method."

Gabrielle took a seemingly well-practiced first puff, slowly exhaling a thick plume of smoke before examining the band on the cigar. "Arturo Fuente." She said absentmindedly. "I assumed you'd be more a fan of Cuban cigars, Hugo."

Hermione's partner waved the veela off. "Cuban, Dominican, Nicaraguan. I'm not picky."

If the meeting wasn't so crucial she would leave the office. The smoke egged on her headache - courtesy of another sleepless night from her partners namesake. It was mornings like these where she understood Ron's point - why have a house elf if you won't utilize him? She frowned at that line of thought; their children were not Patrick's responsibility.

"Thank you for agreeing to meet with me." Gabrielle stated sincerely, looking them both in the eyes in-turn. "As I told your assistant, Hermione, the Zekanot was hoping for your help in our efforts to become a voting member of the International Confederation of Wizards."

Hermione watched the younger woman with disguised curiosity. She had never dealt with Gabrielle Delacour in a professional setting, though she certainly knew of her reputation.

"As sympathetic as I am to your cause, Gabrielle." Hermione started with a twinge of regret. "I'm not sure a law firm is your best bet in this endeavor." She really did want to help her, if nothing else Harry would appreciate it. So would her extended family. "We have a great relationship with Weiss and Beard, I could make an introduction, if you'd like?"

Gabrielle smiled kindly, though Hermione got the impression that the smile was for polite show. "They are excellent when it comes to public relations." Gabrielle agreed. "But we aren't trying to improve our reputation, Hermione. We're pushing for voting rights, _**creature **_voting rights." She spat the word creature as though it were particularly offensive.

"Yes." Hugo chimed in between puffs on his cigar. "But there is no particular law to overturn, this is hardly a legal matter."

Gabrielle smiled more naturally. "No. It is not. We need seventy five percent of the two hundred member delegation to vote in favor of our expanded membership in the ICW. Considering how the ICW designates my people, having two accomplished barristers lobbying on our behalf lends credibility to our cause."

Hugo seemed to understand where Gabrielle was going before Hermione did. "You want to capitalize on Hermione's name."

Gabrielle nodded. "Over the last decade one hundred and forty of the two hundred delegate body have been replaced by persons under the age of forty." The veela stated matter-of-factly. "Of those one hundred and forty, one hundred and twenty five will vote in our favor, I need Hermione to firm up those votes against outside interests. I'll need you, Hugo, to help me convert the old guard."

It was Hermione's turn to smile. She had misinterpreted the point of this meeting. The veela didn't need a barrister, they needed credibility and a celebrity. Herself and Hugo offered her both.

Gabrielle produced a small leatherbound notebook from her handbag before tearing out a pair of pages and handing one to each of them. "These are the names I'd like you to focus on."

'_Padma Patil... Brent Williams... Carey Turk... Muhammad Atol. Evgeny Zubov.'_

"These last two should be handled by Hugo." Hermione said from behind a pair of reading glasses. She looked up in time to see Gabrielle smile. She frowned internally, instantly realizing her mistake. For a moment Hermione wondered if the Ambassador had done it all on purpose.

The veela in question smiled victoriously. "I'll leave the division of the list, and any strategy to the two of you." She said, plopping a large bag of coins on Hugo's desk. "The ICW has a soiree next Tuesday after the assembly. I'd like to meet again Monday to align."

Hugo gave Hermione a smirk and she sighed. "Three o'clock works for us."

"Perfect!" Gabrielle replied enthusiastically. "I'll see you then!"

With that Gabrielle Delacour excused herself, taking a puff of her still lit cigar as she left.

* * *

The Leaky Cauldron may have been a predictable choice, but it was a classic. He thought as he entered the bar, catching Tom's eye he signaled for a round and headed to his normal booth, Ron waiting for him, a shot of firewhisky and a beer at the empty space across from number twelve on the 'Daily Prophet's' annual forty under forty list.

Harry wordlessly downed the shot. "Thanks, mate." He said as Clair came by with their freshly ordered round. He handed her a few coins before handing a shot and a beer to Ron before grabbing his own.

"What do ya want to cheers to this round, mate?" Harry asked.

Ron smiled. "To virgins and lesbians…"

"...thanks for nothin!" Harry finished with a laugh, downing the shot and chasing it with half his first beer.

"Remember that trip to Stockholm with Seamus a few years back?" Ron asked, mirth dancing in his eyes. "He spent that entire first night hitting on the broad eyeing 'mione."

"Course." Harry responded. "Stubborn, cocky bastard. He told me around eleven that he knew he had the wrong genitalia but that 'my Irish cock is impossible to resist!'"

They both laughed. "Typical Irishman." Ron replied as they settled into a comfortable silence as they both finished their first beers.

Ron snorted, drawing his attention. "What is it?"

Ron smiled. "For some reason I was thinking of ferret Malfoy."

They laughed again. "I haven't mentioned that to him in ages." He replied thoughtfully. "Next time I talk to him, it's coming up."

"You mean it didn't come up at the party?" Ron quipped in amusement.

"Naw." Harry replied. "I was too busy dismembering Flint and being escorted from the property."

He had expected more of a reaction from Ron, but instead his friend chuckled softly. "I nearly lost it when Susan showed me the memory."

"Found yourself a mistress, mate?" He joked.

"Never." Ron responded resolutely.

Harry loved that about Ron. The man was more loyal than a dog.

"I was talking to her about running for the open seat in my district next year."

"How will that play with Hermione?" Frankly Harry was shocked. While Hermione didn't necessarily disagree with Susan, Harry was sure she would be disappointed that her husband didn't seek her own party's nomination.

Ron clenched involuntarily. He had never been good with mastering his emotions. "We don't agree on everything, Harry." He said. "We have our differences, she respects that."

To his ears it sounded like his friend was trying to convince himself more than Harry. "How's your day goin?" Harry asked, changing the subject.

Ron frowned. "I had lunch with Bill. All he did was gripe about Fleur the entire time. She's gone a bit psychotic with the latest victims being her friend and her daughter."

Harry nodded in understanding, recalling the conversation he had had with Melanie and Tristan back at the reservation. Fleur and Marissa had been close.

"They're no longer the latest victims, Ron." He said seriously as he finished his second beer. "That's what I've been doing all day."

"Fuck." Ron said as he signaled for another round. "How's Gabrielle taking it?"

Harry's mind shifted back to breakfast that morning, a coy smile on his lips despite the situation. "She was upset."

Ron's face cycled through several emotions before a smug look settled on his face. "You were there when she found out?"

He finished the rest of his second beer, not sure how much rope he should give Ron. "It put a strain on what had been a nice morning."

For a moment the lanky ginger looked like he was about to tease him, instead Ron settled for finishing his own beer, an inquisitive look on his face. "Where's that going, you think?"

"I'm not sure." He said honestly; it was a topic he had pondered a lot over the last several days. "I can't tell if she's manipulating me so I finish the job or if she's serious."

"Do you think she has any idea what she wants?"

He waited for Clair to drop off a fresh round before answering Ron.

"No. Not really." He answered honestly. "But I'm not sure I know what I want either."

"I'm glad I never had that problem." Ron said seriously.

Harry hid his disbelief with another large sip from his mug, unwilling to mention the sexual tension that existed between Ron and Hermione from third to sixth year.

"You're one in a million, Ron. Don't ever change."

* * *

He fidgeted nervously, feeling out of place in his blood red tunic and mustard turbin as he approached the security checkpoint. "Next." The pale man with pointed teeth said in a bored tone.

"Invitation." A second, previously unseen vampire said from a corner to his left, startling him slightly.

Aderfi took a calming breath, shutting his big brown eyes briefly before handing a brown, shriveled monkey's paw to the guard.

The guard eyed the paw for a moment before snapping away one of the three fingers with a sickening crunch.

A translucent light lit up the night sky and the first vampire turned back to him. "Wand, please."

Aderfi hesitated, uncomfortable at the prospect of turning over his lifeblood before desire won out and he traded his wand for a numbered ticket. "You can pick it up after the event." The second vampire said in a bored fashion. "Stick to the path or there will be consequences."

He nodded silently, hoping his nerves weren't on full display, the berber made his way through the winding estate, walking for what felt like several minutes before his narrow path widened and he was greeted by two beautiful veela who couldn't have been older than twenty. "Welcome." They said simultaneously with a touch of enthusiasm, though their eyes told a different story.

He paid them no notice as he stepped into the large, circular room.

Inside the room a smartly dressed Indian woman with a flute of champagne mingled with several strangers before noticing him and excusing herself and heading his way. "Welcome." She said warmly as a waitress appeared with a tray of champagne.

Grabbing a flute, he drank the whole thing in one gulp and when he looked up their was clear amusement in the younger woman's eyes. "Nervous?" She said kindly.

"I've never done something like this before." He answered, a slight tremor in his voice.

"I understand." The hostess said, placing a ring-covered hand on his forearm. "Your first event can be nerve wrecking, I've been told." Her voice conveyed sympathy but her eyes showed disinterest. "Has anyone explained how this works?"

He shook his head in the negative, the woman who had approached him had merely presented an opportunity.

She gave him a false smile before handing him a piece of parchment with the number sixteen on it and a silver dagger. "Some blood, please."

Aderfi steeled his nerves before slicing his left thumb and letting his dark red blood saturate the parchment.

"Would you mind healing my thumb?" He asked, his normally faded North African accent coming out in full-force.

She smiled at him apologetically, though once again her eyes told a different story, a more cruel story. "I'm sorry. Magic is prohibited at club events."

He noticed her glance over his shoulder before rapidly starting what sounded like a prepared speech.

"My colleagues and I have put together a wonderful evening for you, sixteen." Spinning him around towards various exhibits. In one a family of terrified muggles was on display, another contained a nundu, further down the line - exhibit seven - was what he was here for. She continued. "There are eight items up for auction this evening. To place a bid sign the scroll with your number, and your bid. The scroll will glow in acceptance. Bidding ends in an hour, payment is due immediately, if you fail to pay immediately you will be executed. Please, help yourself to food and drink." With that the confident woman walked off to greet the newly arrived couple behind him.

Left to his own devices, he made his way to exhibit seven without hesitation, stopping to take in the exhibit.

Pressing his face and two hands onto the glass his eyes fell on the terrified girl in a pretty blue dress. Oh how he wanted to comfort her, to wash her hair and cook for her. His Tara.

"Miss." He called out, drawing the attention of the Indian woman once more. "Would it be possible to buy these items separately?" He pleaded. The mother drove up the price, he wasn't sure he could afford both.

She smiled sadly. "I'm sorry, sixteen, all lots come as-is, no exceptions."

He sighed and turned towards the parchment, grasping the blood red quill with his still bleeding thumb he wrote his number and his bid on the parchment, letting out a hiss as his maximum bid appeared on the back of his hand.

The parchment glowed a bright green. "Congratulations, sixteen!" The hostess said loudly, drawing the attention of several other patrons, including a burly eastern european man with thick black hair and a scowl. "You have the high bid!"

He smiled joyously. He deserved this. He deserved her.

Across the room the eastern european man's scowl deepened as he stood up. As he crossed the room in five steps Aderfi felt his heart sink as the man outbid him before turning to face his way.

Next to him the hostess smiled. "Well, sixteen, will you be countering?"

He wouldn't and all three knew it. He couldn't afford to compete with an aristocrat.

"Thank you for the opportunity." He said softly, keeping his eyes on the floor, scared that if he looked up the tears would fall.

"Berber." A rough voice said from behind him. "Which one did you want?" The eastern european man inquired.

Hope returned to him. "The girl."

The other man looked at him for a long moment. "What was your bid?"

"One hundred thousand." The other man smiled. "If I win, I will sell you the child, I have no interest in her." He said hesitantly, glancing at the hostess as he spoke.

The Indian woman smiled. "What you do with your property is up to you, number twelve."

"You have a deal." Aderfi said immediately, a smile on his face.

With a smile the Indian woman stood up on a previously unseen podium and grabbed the rooms attention. "Bidding is now closed. Would the winners follow me?"

Aderfi let out a joyous cry. Tara was his.

* * *

**A/N: **Points for anyone who can guess the motivation behind Parvati.

I really like this chapter.


	7. Chapter 7

**Disclaimer: **Harry Potter is the property of JKR

* * *

"While cashmere is technically any hair removed from the underbelly of a goat, we use only the finest hair from the underbelly of Mongolian goats." The old tailor pontificated as he took a break from gathering Harry's measurements to grab him by the hand, directing it towards a fine bit of single ply fabric on the table. Sensing what the old man wanted, and eager to move the entire process along, Harry ran his hand over the hair. "It's very soft" Harry replied in a bored tone, causing the old tailor to beam.

Off to the side he could almost _feel _Gabrielle's amusement saturating the small shop. "Your quality is impeccable, Marcel." His girlfriend crooned. "But if it's _**any **_hair from the underbelly of a goat, how do you differentiate quality?"

Marcel stopped his leisurely measurements, a look of excitement on his wrinkled face. Gabrielle had clearly hit on a favored topic, much to his own dismay. "The hairs themselves range from two centimeters to a little over six centimeters in length and have to be less than nineteen microns." The tailor paused for a second, a frown on his face. "You want less microns and longer hairs. Grade 'A' cashmere, everything in this shop is grade 'A' cashmere."

Seeing the look on Harry's face, Gabrielle let out a nearly imperceptible smirk. "Of course, Marcel. What use would you have for a lesser quality." Her voice was haughty and her tone was obviously rhetorical, but the older man couldn't help himself. "Exactly. If you want a lesser quality head over to Malkins. That old bint blends everything! You won't find that trash here!"

"Of course not, Marcel." Gabrielle cooed.

At that point he cleared his throat, drawing the tailor back to the task at hand. They were on a tight schedule, afterall. "And this will be ready by this afternoon?" He asked, bringing the tailor back to reality.

"Oh yes." He replied flippantly. "The measurements, the precision, is the hard part. The elves do the rest."

Harry's previous tuxedo had been deemed out of style by Gabrielle, giving her a convenient excuse to drag him into Britain's premier haberdashery.

"We will need only the tuxedo for this evening, Marcel." Gabrielle said kindly. Harry was amazed by the affection she was able to inflect into her tone. "The rest can wait till after the soiree."

"Of course, Gabrielle." Marcel said warmly. He had taken a shine to the fashionable, wealthy, veela and Harry felt the man would do anything to please her.

In theory the International Confederation of Wizards fall soiree in Zurich gathered the wizarding worlds most effective governing council in an informal session to mingle, and enhance lasting diplomatic relationships.

In actuality it was several hundred of the most pompous, self-righteous arseholes from across the globe self-aggrandizing over whatever pet project they currently found important.

Gabrielle's, he figured, was more noble than most - equal representation was more important than the tariff's on Canada's maple reserves, he supposed - though he was biased.

"I'll close the shop for the rest of the morning and see you two after lunch."

Her hand was soft in his as they left the brightly lit shop for the cold gloom of Whisper Alley, heading in no particular direction they walked in silence for several minutes, stopping occasionally to glance at a display or watch the various people. "I don't like their hostility." Gabrielle said in annoyance.

Following her gaze, Harry's eyes rested on the source of her weariness - a trio of goblins who he could tell, from their uniforms, worked security at Gringotts. "They're relentless bastards, I'll give them that." He responded loudly, loud enough for his targets to hear as they passed by. "But ultimately they're harmless."

Gabrielle rolled her eyes but said nothing, happy to let him have his fun. The goblins wouldn't risk attacking him in broad daylight, they were more clever than that.

They continued this way for several hours before picking up his tuxedo and heading back to her place.

"Get ready and make yourself at home, Harry. I'll be down shortly."

He smiled as he watched her retreat up the wide staircase and into her room before quickly getting ready.

Harry admired himself uncomfortably in the mirror for a long moment; he had never had a bespoke anything before - whether it was a lingering effect from his time with the Dursleys, or as simple as him not really caring about quality in his youth he did not know. Despite his slight discomfort he admired the rounded corners and pick stitching that went along with its impeccable fit. He had to admit, he looked good.

Feeling a slight surge of confidence, he made his way over to Gabrielle's bar cart pouring them each a small drink, turning around just in time to see Gabrielle descending the staircase, her fire-engine red dress exposing enough leg to turn his imagination.

"You look wonderful, Harry." She said, taking the proffered drink.

He leaned in and gave her a lingering kiss, the subtle taste of rosewater making itself known on his taste buds. "Thank you." He responded with a small smile. "You have outdone yourself, again." He said semi-awkwardly, not as used to paying compliments as he probably should be.

She smiled softly, linking her arm in his; "shall we?"

The chateau hosting the soiree lay where the Sihl and Limmat rivers converged near the Swiss National Museum in Switzerland's largest city, providing the type of picturesque backdrop that would feed the insecurities of the ICW.

As they walked arm-in-arm, Harry slowed the pace, taking a moment to enjoy the reenactment of the creation of the Swiss Confederation taking place on the stainless glass windows around him.

He watched in amusement as the three Cantons of Uri, Schwyz, and Unterwalden put aside their differences to conquer the Germanic Empire. "I wonder what the German delegation thinks of this display?" He said semi-rhetorically to Gabrielle who seemed decidedly less interested in the battle.

A disgusted look came over his girlfriend's face and he briefly wondered if he had done something wrong before she smiled at him with amused blue eyes. "The German delegation isn't so cultured."

They moved along at their own pace until they reached the garden and the security guarding the occupants.

Idly he glanced around. Despite the heavy snow, the garden appeared warm, welcoming, and dry - a result of the wards protecting the space, no doubt.

At first glance he noticed six security guards before correcting himself at the sight of the overly alert barkeep and the pianist with attentive eyes. '_Eight. Eight security guards.' _Unusually light for such a high profile event, though he supposed most invitees had provided their own security detail.

He smiled happily. This date had no ulterior motive and the thought relaxed him. The other dates could be rationalized as just business but not this; Gabrielle had invited him because she wanted him to be with her. There was something comforting about that thought that elicited another smile as he casually let security compensate his single use wand - a Weasley's Wizard Wheezes creation - while his familiar holly and phoenix feather wand remained secure on his right bicep.

"Harry, Gabrielle." A familiar voice greeted them with a tinge of annoyance. "You're late." Fortunately his friend's partner saved him from answering.

"Six minutes, Hermione. They're only six minutes late, by all other metrics they're still _early._" Hugo finished with a dramatic flourish, highlighting the still sparse garden.

His friend harrumphed and he smiled. Hermione would always be Hermione.

"We all have our agenda and will meet back here in two hours, are there any objections?" Gabrielle said, smartly getting straight to the point - Hermione wasn't one to dawdle.

Seeing none, Gabrielle smiled. "Good."

He watched for a long moment as Hugo Reaves, in his magnificent maroon dress robes and monocle limped towards the newly arrived Ukrainian delegation, his hands outstretched wide as he yelled "IGOR!" with a big belly laugh before the two men embraced. Turning towards Hermione, who was all business in her dark blue suit and white blouse chatting up a fellow "Dumbledore's Army" alumnus in Su Li. The two partners couldn't have been more different in their styles but each were equally effective in their craft.

A polite cough brought Harry back to reality. "Shall we, Harry?" Gabrielle said pleasantly as she handed him a glass of something pink. "One glass every half hour; anymore and we'll have a repeat of Malfoy's…" She said, scratching her chin as her voice petered off before starting again with a smile; "any less, for that matter, and we'll have a repeat of Malfoy's."

The touch of humor served to relax him as they began making their way towards a group of delegates near the back of the room.

The backdrop was incredible, he thought to himself as he admired the setting sun reflecting off the Swiss Alps, flurries of snow filling in the gaps of rock and foliage. He couldn't think of a more perfect setting.

While he was busy planning a future weekend retreat, the subject of his fantasy had introduced him to someone - an athletically built young man with blond, almost white, hair.

"Kappo Suimonen, Lord Potter. It's a pleasure to meet you."

A quick glance at the man's chest told him Ambassador Suimonen was Finnish, and by the way the four other Scandinavian delegates, plus Estonia, appeared to be deferring to him, Harry assumed he was their leader.

"Please, Ambassador call me Harry." He responded, forcing a bit of charm and his award winning smile onto his face as he did so.

"Then you must call me Kappo." He said, his English perfect.

The introductions continued but eventually Gabby dominated the conversation and he lost interest, instead positioning himself to get a better look at the soiree, which had filled out significantly since they had arrived half an hour prior.

Off to the side Hermione was facilitating a light-looking conversation between herself and the delegates from across the pond. The picture of professionalism.

In contrast her partner was passing a large bottle of homemade raki between himself and a smiling Bulgarian man who looked just like his famous son. Both were loud. Both were drunk.

He grumbled to himself good naturedly - had that been Harry Potter and Ron Weasley as opposed to Hugo Reaves and Vladislav Krum, Hermione would be having a fit.

Soon his eyes settled on the British delegate who was, for the second time in as many meetings, berating Oliver Wood who was once again away from his wife.

'_What's Oliver doing here, and what the hell is he doing with Flint?' _

Wood wasn't a seeker so it wouldn't be quidditch related. Malfoy? Was that the connection?

Flint did work for him, and Malfoy ran Europe's largest racketeering scheme. He made a mental note not to bet on any Chudley games in the near future, adding another note to tell Ron to do the same before grabbing a second glass of pink wine and allowing Gabrielle to drag him further into the jungle.

It took him several moments to realize where Gabrielle was leading him, but when he did, he felt a sense of doubt course through him; was this her plan all along?

"Ambassador Patil." Gabrielle said with a smile. "It's great to see you again."

"Likewise Ambassador Delacour, Lord Potter."

Like Sue Bones at Malfoy Manor, Padma also had a smirk tugging at the corners of her lips while addressing him so formally.

"Please, Ambassador. We've known each other for nearly twenty years, call me Harry, that goes for you as well, Lady Patil."

To his surprise Parvati did not use the opening to insert herself into the conversation, choosing instead to defer to her slightly older sister.

"Thank you, Harry. And likewise."

As Gabrielle enveloped Padma in conversation Harry offered his arm to Parvati. "It's a bit overdue, but I believe I owe you a dance."

He could see the laugh in her pretty smile; Parvati remained the most beautiful woman in their class, long after graduation.

"I do hope you've improved." She responded endearingly, placing a soft hand on his forearm; if he wasn't spoken for her charm would have him by now. "I'll let you be the judge, Parvati." He said warmly as they began to dance in a comfortable silence.

He waited for her to say something as they traipsed around the room gracefully. The Parvati he knew would have been talking by now. Yet she didn't and he had to remind himself that people change.

"What's that about?" He started off semi-awkwardly, glancing over his left shoulder towards Oliver and Marcus who were still chatting quietly in the corner.

Parvati smiled conspiratorially. "I'll tell you, but only if you tell me if Ron's running for that seat."

He twirled her, nonplussed by the negotiation. Parvati's services always came at a price. "You first."

She smiled sweetly but her eyes were remarkably void of emotion, leaving him to wonder just how adept she was at the mind arts. He was tempted to reach out with a bit of legilimency but was fairly certain he would be detected.

"Ollie likes to gamble. What he's betting on does not matter. Not to him, and certainly not to Malfoy."

He digested what she told him - nothing new, but got the confirmation he sought nonetheless - Parvati was a purveyor of information and if she said it, he had no reason to doubt her. Her reputation was built on secrets.

"Ron met with Sue last week, he's hiring Dennis Creevey to run his campaign." He said as the song finished.

Briefly he caught the eye of Gabrielle who gave him a slight nod of approval.

The music slowed and Harry pulled the woman closer, the subtle scent of apricot seemed to draw his attention to her beautiful face, her inviting lips, her brown dimples; the smell was _intoxicating. _

It was also illegal.

"I heard you and Miles had a run in with a couple of goblins not that long ago?" She said nonchalantly as their hips swayed to the slow cadence of the violin.

He looked back into her eyes and saw them take on a briefly annoyed look.

'_Did she think her little trick would work on me?'_

"The bounty is still active." He said with a forced smile while he reassessed his former classmate. "And I do like a good fight from time to time."

She laughed. "Understatement of a lifetime, Harry."

They both laughed. They had never been close, never would be, he figured. Be that as it may he grew up with this woman. He was there for her divination days, while she served as his first date - disastrous as it may have been. When you spend that amount of time with someone, when you've known them through so many stages of their lives, you develop a sense of intimacy that is hard to replicate. He loved her, in a way, he supposed. She was hardly perfect, he knew, but she had been there, for better or worse, for every major moment of his life. It wasn't exactly loyalty, but it was something.

"I heard George bought your niece a set of unicorn's?" He noticed for the first time in their conversation a bit of doubt had crept into her eyes, the first emotion those brown eyes had shown all night.

He smiled genuinely. "She's named the colt 'Fred.'"

Parvati's smile was sad but her eyes told a different story. "He was a good man."

"She'll be the first veela to attend Hogwarts, right?" Her voice carried a degree of excitement as she changed the subject. He supposed if he confirmed it to her she would have a piece of confirmed gossip nobody else had. "Victoire Weasley will attend the immersion program the next two summers with her future classmates in preparation of full-time enrollment when she's eleven."

"That's wonderful!" Padma said, her eyes lighting up, showing more genuine emotion. "I've heard she's quite the looker, even for a veela?"

He personally found it hard to judge the beauty of a nine year old, but he had to admit genetics favored the child.

"She will be. Copper hair and ice blue eyes."

Parvati looked at him ruefully. "How much time have you spent training her?"

He laughed. "Victoire can disarm you."

They shared another laugh as Gabrielle and Padma approached them once more; both smiling.

"How was the dance?" Padma asked, beaming ear to ear. He wondered what Gabrielle had to promise to earn her support.

"Harry has improved since our last time." Parvati said with a smile and a pat to his chest.

Her identical twin smiled coyly in return. "Too bad Ron didn't accompany his wife." She said glancing at Hermione. "I'd like to see if he's improved."

The sisters laughed before Padma became serious. "Parvati, I hope you don't mind but I sold your services to the Zekanot."

Far from looking upset, Parvati seemed genuinely delighted, as though she had been waiting her whole life for this opportunity. Even her eyes momentarily flashed...something.

"Absolutely!" Parvati replied with glee. "Let's grab lunch next week, Gabrielle."

His girlfriend beamed. "I look forward to it."

* * *

He felt the vibrations pulsate through his body as his grey eyes scanned the loud club in search of the man Marcus said was Pansy's handler; eager to find, interrogate, and dispose of the seedy man.

Draco smiled as he eyed the target near the bar across the club, sipping scotch with the Sultan's son. "Stick to me." He said to his security guard, who nodded by way of response.

He didn't want to believe the rumors, but Potter had an affinity for this sort of thing, and his people had confirmed it. Pansy Parkinson was alive and working with a rival.

He let his security push ahead, giving him a clear path through the crowded club, eager to get the deed done with - Pansy knew too much, he needed her dealt with.

"Watch the shoes!" A somewhat familiar voice said over the loud music, drawing Draco's attention to the scene unfolding in front of him between his security guard and Oliver Wood.

Having seen him, Captain England looked up and frowned. "Malfoy tell your man to watch his big arse feet!"

He sneered. He wasn't fond of Wood, and the man was causing a scene. The last thing Draco wanted to do was call attention to himself.

Without a word to the washed up keeper, Draco refocused his attention on his target, who's attention was solely on the man in front of him. His face contorted into a look of disgust. His target was one of _those. _

Looking back out at the floor he frowned in annoyance, unable to locate his security.

Frustrated by the quality of his help and the crowdedness of the club floor, Draco lunged forward with his shoulder, forcing his way through a group of drunken twats, one of whom spilled a drink on his new suit.

He paid it no mind, the charms keeping him dry. Instead, he glanced back at the bar and panicked slightly - his target had disappeared and he'd lost his security. '_Abort.' _His subconscious told him, the mission was a bust he could fight on another day.

Ignoring himself, he pressed onwards towards the bar alone, desperate to make something of this increasingly disappointing evening.

'_Where is my security?' _He wondered as he scanned the room for any sign of his target.

'_Abort.' _His subconscious told him once more, and this time he listened. Abandoning his pursuit, he turned around and headed back where he had come from, increasingly desperate to get to the apparition point - he didn't like large crowds, especially not in unfamiliar clubs.

He felt a tap on his shoulder followed by another familiar voice. "Draco!" It said as he turned around in surprise to see the chubby face and blonde hair of Pansy Parkinson. "How good to see you!" She said joyously as she drove the knife below his breast plate and into his heart. "This is for my family." She whispered into his ear as she gave the knife a twist.

* * *

"Well then, crack on!" Jameson said with a slur, apple atop his head.

Seamus steadied himself, nine centimeters of steel firmly in his grip. If he was honest, he was completely langers and really shouldn't be throwing knives. But Jameson was a real Holy Joe and Seamus was trying to impress the floozie at the bar.

Pushing the last bit of doubt out of his mind he squared his shoulders, adjusted his vision, and let loose the steel with precision, the blade finding its mark some meters away, demolishing the red delicious and impaling itself in the wall behind Jameson to a smattering of applause from the crowd.

"Thank ya. Thank ya." He said with a deep bow and a pull from his bottle. "I'm here all night." He said with an over exaggerated wink at the floozie.

He greeted Jamson with a manly hug. "Thanks for doin that, mate. Gave me an in, I reckon."

"I never doubted ya, Seamus."

The pudgy man with brown hair and mischievous green eyes smiled. "Ya really should show more concern for yer own well being though, mate. I'm completely locked! Nobody is more surprised yer still alive than me!"

They laughed, though his companion did so with a bit of a nervous chuckle.

The pair ate quietly for several minutes when Jameson broke the silence. "Oy, would you look at that fine thing." Jameson said, pointing towards the newly arrived couple in battered blue jeans and matching faded green shirts.

"Aye. But I think he's taken." Seamus said with a laugh as Jameson flipped him a one finger salute.

"Gobshite." His friend retorted. "Whatcha think they doin here?"

That was a good question. What would Oliver and Azzurra Wood be doing at a dive bar in Cork? "Feck if I know. I'd heard she's a bit of a dryshite, ya know?"

"Ya know him though, dontcha? Could I get an intro?" Seamus laughed. He hadn't talked to Ollie in years, doubt the man wanted his date to be interrupted.

"I haven't talked to 'im in years, mate. I doubt miss veela would appreciate a couple of fluthered gents like ourselves interrupting 'er evenin'."

"Aye." His friend said agreeably as they turned back to their food.

They ate in silence for several minutes, Seamus's mind turning back to the floozie at the bar shooting him looks every couple of minutes when his friend spoke softly. "I'd heard a rumor Wood and that former Falmouth seeker who advises the national team 'ad some sort of agreement."

Jameson's voice was full of conspiracy. Seamus liked conspiracy. "What sorta rumor be that?"

"Tha kind tha allowed 'im to start over Hughes in the World Cup."

He pondered that as he finished his lager. The metrics had favored Hughes. The public had favored Hughes. The manager of the national team was the same manager that replaced Wood with Hughes at Puddlemore. "Flint don't have that kinda juice on his own, mate."

"Aye." Jameson responded. "But the groups he represents do."

Seamus straightened a bit. Jameson had always been a bit of a dosser. A deadly one at that. "You mean Malfoy?"

"Maybe." His friend replied. "Either them or the Monkey's Paw."

Seamus subtly drew his wand from under the table before pointing it at his chest and silently sobering himself up. He'd never heard of this group.

"What do they do?" He said calmly, his friend either not noticing or not caring about the change in his demeanor.

His friend shrugged. "I'm not sure." He said. "The rep I met told me they sell fantasies."

He felt the gears in his mind begin to turn - that could mean just about anything. "Let's say I wanted an adolescent Nepalese Yeti, could they get that?"

He had a customer who asked for one a year ago, he'd failed to acquire it. His reputation hadn't completely recovered.

Jameson shrugged. "Not ser, mate. I could getcha an introduction, though. Whatcha think?"

He smiled charmingly. "I'd like that."

* * *

She watched as Parvati floated around the room in her blood red tee sequin dress, a statement piece from Prabal Gurung - a rising Nepalese designer's - winter collection gracefully as she introduced Annette first to Ernie and Meghan Macmillan, then to Miranda Fawcett and the rest of Britain's socialites.

"Ambassador Delacour." A small voice said with a tug on her hand. "I'm hungry."

Gabrielle smiled at her niece. "As soon as Elder Monclair is finished with introductions we will eat. She promised.

A new voice on the other side of Victoire made her smile. "I am also hungry. Ambassador Delacour."

"Nobody cares about you, dear." She said with a slight laugh, eliciting even more laughter from her niece - though why Victoire was laughing Gabrielle was certain she did not know.

The three stood relatively unbothered - most of the guests were there for the main attraction afterall.

Speaking of which… "Gabrielle, dear." Elder Monclair called out as she approached. "Have you met Cho Chang? Her father, Chang Lee, ran the Chinese Consulate here in Britain for close to twenty years."

She smiled at the pretty Chinese woman in the black sequin dress that hung slightly off her left shoulder. "I have not." She said with a smile. "Though I believe Harry has." She said with a touch of humor, she wasn't sure what their history was, but she knew there was one.

"It's great to see you again, Cho." Harry said from next to her with a disingenuous smile. "How are the children?"

She marveled at Harry. For all his self-doubt he really was his own worst critic. When he put forth the effort he could shine.

"Events like these keep me sane." The attractive woman said, her long black hair done up and held together by a pair of black lacquered sticks and magic.

Harry laughed obediently, his body language attentive though his eyes lacked interest as the slightly older woman engaged him in conversation.

Was it his virginity? Is that what she had over him? She began to run the timeline through her mind and nearly missed out on her cue.

"...Gabrielle would you and Harry like to join Roger and myself for dinner next Saturday?" She didn't have her calendar memorized but responded automatically, dinner with a sitting member of the Wizengamot was a must. "We would love to, would you mind owling me the details?"

"Of course." She said kindly, Gabrielle's eyes were drawn to her perfect teeth; the woman was a natural beauty, much like Parvati. "It was wonderful to meet you, Gabrielle."

'_Ambassador.' _She corrected in her mind. "Likewise, Cho."

"We will need to talk; me, you, and Harry, before that meeting." Annette said, shifting her attention to Harry. "She has a thing for you Harry, we can use that."

The line of talk made her shift uncomfortably in her heels. "Not in front of Victoire, Annette." She said kindly.

Annette could see right through her, she was sure of it, but moved along all the same. "If you'll excuse me, I have to finish making the rounds."

Annette moved on and Parvati stepped forward a bit timidly. "I'm embarrassed to say that when we met the other day I wasn't aware that another one of your flock had gone missing."

Gabrielle frowned slightly while Harry appeared more focused than he had all afternoon. Sabrina's disappearance had not been made public; and the only investigators, besides Harry, had been the Warlock's.

"Yes." She said, taking a sip of wine while she gathered herself. "It's a compounding tragedy."

Parvati nodded sympathetically. "Harry's the best. If he can't get to the bottom of it, nobody can."

The subject of her comment turned their way. "Parvati." Harry started. "What's Smith doing here?" If she wasn't mistaken there was a tinge of anger in his tone. What had he said about Zacharias Smith, again?

"It's _Lord _Smith now, Harry." She corrected him. "Barney was deemed unfit to run the family after their parents death."

The lack of emotion on his features were betrayed by his balled fists. "This is a nine year olds birthday party."

Her response was interrupted by the man himself. "Ambassador Delacour, Lord Potter. So good to see you again." His tone was pompous yet casual while his family ring was prominently displayed on finger, glistening unnaturally in the room as though it had been charmed.

She smiled charmingly. Whatever Harry's issue with Lord Smith was it could be dealt with later. "Lord Smith." She began. "I'm sorry to hear of your loss." He smiled soberly and briefly bowed his head. "Thank you, Ambassador. Likewise. That's why I'm here, in fact." He said, glancing momentarily at Victoire. "To ensure the security of your kind."

She resisted the urge to frown at his tone, reminding herself that it wasn't that long ago that even muggle ancestry was frowned upon in the Isles. Progress was slow, and wouldn't be made if she was constantly being a bitch about it.

Next to her Harry positioned himself in front of Victoire. The sight warmed her. For all his bluster he really did love her.

"Thank you." She said kindly. "I would love to grab lunch sometime, having your support would mean the world to the Zekanot."

The wiry man with brown hair beamed. "How does Wednesday afternoon sound?"

* * *

He dipped his comically large soft pretzel into a smattering of dijon mustard before taking a bite of his salty treat without looking down, his eyes remaining fixed on the entrance to the cinema across the mall.

It had taken Harry an annoying amount of time to find this opportunity, when he had, he laughed - Crabbe and Goyle were fans of muggle cinema, particularly big budget blockbusters. How two dimwitted pureblood supremacists even learned of the cinema was beyond him.

Seeing his targets, he abandoned his pretzel to follow them from a distance, waiting for the pair to separate themselves from the muggles.

Hiding in the crowd, Harry watched as the men turned down an alleyway before making his move.

He took Crabbe first, hitting him with a stunner, before doing the same with Goyle, watching with a smile as the latter smacked his block-like head off the kelly green dumpster. The men never had a chance.

'_Like their victims.'_

In an instant he had summoned the men to him. Grabbing each by their collar, he activated his portkey, disappearing and reappearing in his shaded shop a moment later.

Fastening each to a stiff wooden chair, Harry proceeded to his desk, removing a small, clear vial he had nicked from Hermione's office, as well as a dropper.

Filling the dropper with veritaserum, he revived Crabbe before placing three drops of the truth serum on his tongue, watching the man's eyes intently for the tell-tale glazed over look.

Satisfied with what he saw, Harry got to it. "What is your name?"

There was no fight in his classmates' eyes. "Vincent Montgomery Crabbe."

"Who do you work for?" He said, beginning with the basics.

"I'm an independent security contractor."

Harry rolled his eyes. "Who does Pansy Parkinson work for?" For a millisecond he thought he saw the man attempt to fight the potion. "The Monkey's Paw." He said, sounding out each syllable laboriously.

He sighed. There was that ridiculous name again. He would need to buy Aiden a few drinks, he was more talkative that way.

"Where can I find Pansy?"

"I don't know." The large man replied dully, frustrating him further.

Stunning the man, Harry sat in thought for several long moments - they didn't know anything.

He let out a frustrated grunt as he came to the obvious conclusion.

Turning on his prisoners he pointed his wand, first at Crabbe, then at Goyle; "obliviate," he said, altering their memories slightly. Satisfied with his work, he levelled his wand once more; "imperio," he whispered before sending them on their way.

* * *

**A/N: **A bit of excitement in this one, Morty.


	8. Chapter 8

**Disclaimer: **I own nothing

**A/N: **Apologies on the wait for this chapter. Life got in the way and I had to spend an abnormal amount of time editing.

* * *

"Jeffries!" He yelled with a slight laugh, drawing the attention of the wayward bartender. Miles' glass had been empty for nearly ninety seconds and he was sick of hearing his friend bitch about it.

"JEFFRIES!" He yelled louder to the approaching bartender, drawing looks of annoyance from the other patrons.

"I'm comin' Potter!" He retorted.

"Oy I bet you are!" Miles quipped to a smattering of chuckles. "What the hell happened to your face, mate?" The dirty blond slurred from next to him as the bartender approached.

A confused look overcame Jeffries. "Whatcha talking about, Bletchley?" He asked, his aforementioned face contorting into a look of befuddlement.

Miles got out of his stool to leer across the bar at the younger man. "Well shit. You believe that, Harry. That's just how he looks!"

They both laughed and Jeffries grumbled. "You want another as well, Potter?"

Harry took a look down at his half-full pint and frowned. Miles was outpacing him two to one. "Yes." He said as he drank the remainder of his pint in one gulp, drawing a look of approval from his flushed friend.

"You're takin it a bit easy tonight, Harry. Why?"

He took a sip of his fresh beer and frowned. "The balls on Parkinson."

It had been three days since Malfoy was murdered. Two since Pansy Parkinson had been confirmed as the suspect. One since the ICW issued an international arrest warrant. "Has Lavender talked to Astoria?"

Miles shrugged. "Maybe." He said, "I haven't talked to Lavender since the murder."

Most assumed that Pansy had murdered Malfoy out of anger or revenge. He suspected something different. "Would you mind asking her? See if you can find out how their estate will be managed."

The unexpected death of a Lord, the _second _in the last six months, could be tricky with the more traditional families, and Harry wondered how much control Astoria would have as Lady Malfoy; whoever got in her ear could change British politics.

"Why ya think she did it?" Miles asked, breaking the silence.

He nearly responded automatically, but paused. Miles lived with the bastards for six years. "Why do you think she did it, Miles?"

His friend rolled his eyes in exaggeration at the turn about. "Fine then. Be that way." Miles smiled. "Anger. Revenge. Jealousy. A general disdain for the Malfoy family. Take your pick."

'_There's a thought.' _ "Jealousy?"

"Yeah." The former Slytherin responded, as though it were the most obvious thing in the world. "I watched her pin after that fortune for years only to come second to the youngest Greengrass daughter? That can't have sat well with her or her family."

The murder was personal, that much was true. He doubted Pansy had to kill Malfoy herself. He doubted it had to be so public. He doubted that stabbing the man through the heart was the easiest way to accomplish her goal. Nobody knew she was alive, she threw it all away to kill one man.

Astoria and Scorpious could be next.

"I think revenge and jealousy are _**why**_ she murdered him." Harry said in partial agreement. "But I'm more interested in Astoria and the damage she could do with that wizengamot seat." With Lucius and Narcissa in permanent exile Astoria couldn't appoint either of her in-laws to vote on behalf of her son. "She's not exactly known for her intelligence."

Miles smiled. "She's known more for her physique."

A tap on his shoulder ended that line of discussion for the time being.

"Harry." Seamus's normally jovial voice was serious with a slight tremor, his thinning black hair a mess while his eyes had dark circles under them. "Can we talk?"

He nodded resolutely. "Miles, I'll be right back." His friend looked at him. "Don't bother. The missus wants me home early anyhow."

Silently Harry and Seamus took the smokers exit to the side alley. "Do ya mind?" Seamus asked, a joint between his fingers.

"Whatever you need, Seamus." The older man's demeanor setting him slightly on edge.

His dormmate used his wand to spark the joint while Harry ensured they wouldn't be overheard.

Seamus had gone down an interesting path in life. Graduating in the bottom third of their class, he'd worked for George and Ron in sales for a while before his mother fell ill and he had to move back to Cork. After her death he just sort of drifted, taking small jobs - regardless of legality - as needed.

He waited patiently as his friend smoked, a calculating look on his worn face. With Seamus it was best to move at his pace.

Seeming to come to a sort of conclusion, Seamus reached into his pocket, pulling out a wrinkled brown paw with three fingers.

"I can't tell ya much."

He nearly snorted in amusement. It figures that he'd chase a lead for weeks only for Seamus fucking Finnegan, of all people, to provide the first solid bit of evidence to the mysterious groups existence.

"What does the monkey's paw mean?"

Seamus opened his mouth to speak before pausing, a frown resting on his face.

'_Oaths.' _Pesky but mostly effective.

"I'm no zoologist, Harry." The Irishman settled for. This wasn't Seamus's first dance with secrecy.

Harry thought for a long moment as he took a drag from the joint, the thc calming him significantly as he exhaled.

Aiden had been familiar with the group but had precious little information on them, at least that he was willing to share.

"Why don't ya tell me a story, Seamus."

The man went silent for several seconds. "I was grabbing drinks with an old mate in Cork, real Irish fellow, ya know?"

Seeing Harry nod, he continued. "We're messin' round havin' a laugh when our old mate Ollie and that wife of his walk in."

He fought his initial reaction, thoughts of fifth year dancing in his head. He did not want to rush to conclusions.

"What's he got to do with…"

Seamus nodded. "Well me mate, he has connections in the PQL, ya know; mentions Wood cut some sort of deal to make the cup last year."

Harry nodded in acceptance. It would explain a lot of inconsistencies in the selection process, while confirming Ron's conspiracies.

"He cut the deal with Flint."

Harry paused to consider his wording. "Through Malfoy?" He asked, anticipating the answer.

"No." Brief and emphatic, Seamus's statement held weight. He was certain.

"I see."

They went silent as Harry took a second puff, tilting his head up towards the midnight sky as he exhaled and passed the joint back to his friend.

"Can you find out if Ollie has been betting on quidditch?" The question was out of his lips before his mind could catch up.

Seamus nodded his head without question despite the lack of context. "Can you procure more blue?"

'_Quid pro quo.' _

"Of course." He said, his mind elsewhere. He needed to recall Crabbe and Goyle. Immediately. "Is this, this deal between Flint and Wood, common knowledge?"

Seamus shrugged. "I didn't know till the other evenin'."

"Parvati said those two were working with Malfoy."

Seamus shrugged a second time. "Maybe she didn't know."

Seamus clutched the paw in his hand, drawing his attention. "You should meet me in Glasgow next week. Sheep Shack. Tuesday evenin', after supper?"

He stared at the man for a long moment before smiling. "See you in a week."

He had always found the flickering lanterns illuminating the empty cobblestone streets of Diagon Alley to be hauntingly beautiful this time of night, even more so with the way the snowflakes glistened in the dim lamp light before falling to the ground.

He took a deep breath, filling his lungs with the cold winter air, pondering what Seamus didn't tell him.

If he assumed this group was responsible for the kidnappings, and he assumed that the information he received from Seamus was correct, then Harry had to re-evaluate his old captain.

"Of the twenty five victims, twenty had a connection to the reserve in Menton, fourteen had a direct connection to Azzura Wood." He muttered into his recorder as he hung a right down Diagon Alley's main street, noting the flickering light ahead that would decrease visibility as he approached his shop. "The connection to Azzura Wood, and by extension her husband Oliver Wood, is a mixture between primary and secondary, through the former's spin class."

He felt the subtle magic a hair before the sonic boom shook his vision, shattering the windows of the surrounding shops. He felt blood trickle from his ringing ears as his vision wavered. '_This is not good.' _He thought as a blinding light robbed him of another one of his senses, leaving him further disoriented.

"_Не дай ему восстановиться!"_

"_**Don't let him recover!" **_

Casting a quick disillusionment charm on himself, Harry moved to restore his vision, but not before a bonebreaker caught him on the left side of his chest, shattering several ribs into pieces and leaving him completely visible once more.

Harry wheezed as breathing became more and more laborious.

Spellfire reigned down upon him from every angle forcing him to shield, not giving him an opportunity to heal his wounded ribs or counter the vicious assault.

He sensed over a dozen magical signatures surrounding him from various heights and angles. He had to act fast.

Dropping his shield, he batted away several curses and hastily applied a numbing charm on himself before blindly returning fire towards the voices, buying himself a precious second to assess his situation.

A quick _homenum revelio _made him grin like a madman. The goblins had sent thirteen mercenaries this time.

Entering a crouch, Harry unleashed a barrage of bludgeoners towards the two dots closest to him, ignoring, for the moment, the two snipers on the roof hurling killing curses his way as he pirouetted out of the way of the oncoming green light in favor of the two men working in unison twelve meters to his right.

His bludgeoner found home, hitting an unknown assailant in the chest, collapsing the bigger man's sternum into his heart, sending him to his knees as his lungs began to fill with blood as his life faded.

'_Interesting.' _He noted as he conjured a marble wall to absorb another killing curse. The death of the assailant activated a portkey, removing the dead body from the battlefield.

He summoned a trash bin to take the impact of another killing curse, sending shards of metal into the air, which he banished back towards his attackers, forcing several to shield.

"Avada Kedavra!" He muttered several times in succession, eliminating four more of his enemies, each disappearing the second they were killed.

His counter bought Harry several seconds, allowing him to cast a quick featherlight charm on himself before propelling himself into the night sky. Taking aim he sent killing curses at both snipers, watching as the first dove to the right of his spell while the second conjured a physical shield to take the impact right as the first began hurling spells his way as he fell back to earth.

"_Затянуть петлю!" _

"_**Tighten the noose!" **_Their leader yelled in Russian, the unstressed 'o's' clearly pronounced, though strained - whether or not the northern accent was forced or a result of the situation could be analyzed after the fact.

The team attacked in unison and from all angles, making dodging impossible, forcing him to rely on physical shields, neutering his ability to effectively counter the brutal assault.

'_Shite. Shite. Shite!' _He thought as a cutter tore through his shield, removing his left arm at the elbow. '_That shouldn't be possible!' _Although it had been hastily erected his shield shouldn't have been so easily shattered. Though they had taken a beating, he had pushed enough power into them to stop the average attacker.

Finding a break in the assault, Harry flicked his wrist, illuminating the battlefield briefly to show eight hooded individuals closing in.

'_This is a team.' _He wasn't aware of many merc teams. Mercenaries were solitary in nature, teaming up only when they felt it would be advantageous. Their movements, their communication, the subservience to a clear leader. This unit had advanced military training.

Acting fast, Harry slashed his wand left to right in a downward motion, an ugly yellow curse erupting from his wand, slicing two of his attackers in half at the torso, leaving them in four distinct parts.

All four parts disappeared from the battlefield immediately.

'_They're wearing multiple emergency portkeys to avoid identification.' _He thought, briefly pausing his attack.

The precious seconds cost him dearly as an organ eruptor caught his spleen, while a bonebreaker hit him in his left clavicle, leaving the left side of his body nearly useless.

A seed of doubt crept into his mind as his enemies unyielding assault made it impossible to start another counter as six mercenaries closed the distance.

'_Where's their leader?'_

Coming to a decision, Harry opened up his stance and dropped his shields, allowing a cutting curse to open a large gash, again on his left side but protecting his wand arm.

"Avada kedavra!" He yelled once more through gritted teeth, eliminating one attacker while his follow up missed, crashing into the storefront closest to him, leaving an ugly scorch mark on the door.

Again the dead attacker disappeared right as their leader reappeared from Harry's shop. '_What the hell is going on? Where are the aurors?' _Something was wrong.

The five remaining mercs and their leader dropped all pretense.

_"Убийство только проклятий!" _

The night sky was green with light as Harry rolled forward then clumsily to the left as two more curses missed him by millimeters.

'_Where are the aurors?' _He thought again to himself - even the ministry wasn't this inept. The night patrol should have arrived by now.

He responded in kind, launching killing curses in desperation towards his attackers, the effects of the beer and drugs slowing his reflexes in an increasingly desperate fight.

He was going to lose.

'_Not like this.' _He wondered not for the first time if he was the reincarnation of King Pyrrhus. Even after all these years Voldemort was finding a way to kill him.

"FIENDFYRE!" He roared in desperation, the demonic flames leaping from his wand and engulfing three of the six remaining attackers before wreaking havoc on the nearby buildings, the smell of burnt flesh and the sound of horrific screaming saturating the air.

There would be consequences for his actions but he didn't care, he could worry about that later. "FIENDFYRE!" He bellowed a second time, killing two of the three remaining attackers.

Sensing defeat, their faceless leader activated a hidden portkey just as a follow up cutting curse tore into his opponents abdomen, leaving Harry alone amongst the burning buildings.

* * *

He sat quietly with a smirk on his lips, pretending he didn't see the glares of his peers. Next to him Lord Longbottom wore a whimsical expression on his face. "You just couldn't resist, could you Harry?"

He turned to his friend, an eyebrow raised. "What was that, Lord Longbottom?"

A smile broke out on Neville's face, which he covered with a fake cough. "You just couldn't resist, could you _**Lord **_Potter-Black."

A confused look overcame him, as if he hadn't anticipated the reaction of the other members. "Tonks assured me that the wizengamot had progressed over the years. Has that trend not extended to fashion?"

Maybe it was Gabby's influence, but lately he had found his old dress robes to be ridiculous and uncomfortable. How traditionalists waltzed about in them all day was beyond him.

"You know the answer to that." Neville deadpanned.

He did. His meeting with the judicial council the previous day to discuss the attack on him and his shop two nights prior had nearly been derailed when Lord Corner took offense to his navy muggle suit. The priorities of the older members were absolutely baffling.

"And yet here I am."

To irk the old curmudgeon, he had gone even more casual today, trading the navy suit and tie for a black blazer, white oxford, and black loafers with gold accoutrements, forgoing the tie. Three columns over he could see the sour look on the tossers face.

The wizengamot's response to the attack had been a hell of a lot quicker than the auror's. He hadn't even been able to analyze the battle in his pensieve before he had received his summons. By the next afternoon he and Hermione were negotiating his fine for the destruction his bout of fiendfyre had caused.

Up at the lectern Lord Corner puffed out his chest in self-importance, the epitome of what was wrong with these old pureblood families. The entire session was to address judicial issues making him the center of attention for what was sure to be a long afternoon. "Lords and Ladies of the wizengamot, thank you for attending today's session, you may be seated." He began with an unnecessary pound of the gavel.

He tuned the rest of the man's soliloquy out as Michael Corner's father read out the agenda for the afternoon, waiting for the ceremony to end and the meeting to begin.

"Before we move to the main topic of discussion for the afternoon, I would like to address the attack on Diagon Alley earlier this week. Lord Potter-Black."

Hearing his name he stood slowly, a smattering of quiet whispers erupting as he did. He hadn't attended a meeting in three years, he would have liked to have made it at least four but his attackers had other plans. Part of his settlement had been acknowledging what he had done. How childish.

"Early Wednesday morning Lord Potter-Black was attacked by a legion of mercenaries hired by Gringotts." There was no reaction from the other members, his quarrel with the bank was well known by this point.

Harry nearly scoffed. There was no evidence that the goblins coordinated this attack. The ministry, as per usual, went for the convenient explanation over a thorough investigation.

"While defending himself, Lord Potter-Black was forced to use fiendfyre. While self defence is a pillar of our society, it would be inappropriate to let the usage of such destructive magic go unpunished, particularly considering the damage that was caused to the historic alley. For the transgression the judicial committee, with signoff from the Minister himself, have decided to forgo pressing criminal charges in favor of levelling a fine of four million galleons for damages caused to the alley. Does Lord Potter-Black accept the judgement?"

As if he had a choice. There was an attempt on his life and the only person being punished was the victim. It was the bloody triwizard tournament all over again.

"I do." He said solemnly. "I was wrong to use cursed flame on my eight assailants, even if it was self-defence. I accept the punishment."

Corner's face fell, he no doubt expected a bit more snark knowing that he didn't have access to his vaults.

"Excellent. You can meet with Treasurer Roberts to work out a payment plan."

Gabrielle hadn't even batted an eyelash when he told her about his fine, writing him a check then and there. Not for the first time he wondered just how much wealth the Zekanot sat on.

"No need, Lord Corner." He said with a smile. "I am able to pay the fine in full today, if it pleases the ministry." That caught their attention. Four million galleons would bankrupt the vast majority of the families in attendance.

Lord Corner's eyes narrowed ever-so-slightly for the briefest of moments, a sour look on his wrinkled face. "Lovely."

The only brightside to his little ordeal was that he was summoned to stand before the _august _body on the same day they were to discuss Malfoy's murder.

"Our next order of business is in regards to the murder of Lord Malfoy last weekend." The proclamation was mostly met with silence, even the traditionalists didn't publicly support the Malfoy family, not anymore.

As Corner pontificated he let his eyes wander over the families that comprised the 'Sacred Twenty Eight', looking for subtle reactions. Though the entire family _technically _had no criminal record, purebloods had made the move to publicly distance themselves from them over the past decade, even if privately they attended their parties and sought their approval. Money was power and nobody was immune.

Flint had a slight frown on his face. Avery, Bulstrode, and Burke sat emotionless. Abbott, Macmillan and Shafiq were trying their best to remain neutral but he could see the smug looks in their eyes.

It was the man next to Abdul Shafiq, his former classmate Zacharias Smith who had the most visible reaction, a look of anger on his reddened face.

Harry watched the prick as debate on how the wizengamot should proceed opened up to the floor. The man was twitching in his seat, his knuckles white as he leaned his hands on the small desk in front of him. It wouldn't be long now, Smith had the self-control of Padfoot.

"Lord Corner" the newest Lord of the wizengamot interrupted, drawing attention to himself. "I don't know why we are dedicating so much time to a terrorist who ran a criminal empire!"

Around him heads nodded in silent agreement.

"Draco Malfoy and his family terrorized the people of this country for generations and we want to spend taxpayer dollars on bringing Parkinson to justice?!" The slender man hopped onto his desk with a surprising amount of athleticism before turning to address his now silent colleagues.

"This man and his family murdered and maimed anyone who stood in their path! They extorted and exploited anyone they could! Hell there are even rumors that they dilly-dallyed in human trafficking, as Lord Potter-Black can attest, twenty five veela have gone missing! I say we keep our warrant for Parkinson active but I don't think we should be wasting this body's time on frivolous investigations!"

There was a small round of applause at the display and Harry wondered if anyone would come to Malfoy's defence.

"With any luck" Smith continued, "the organization will collapse unto itself and we will finally be rid of their stench!"

An explosion of discussion rang out across the chamber as Lord Corner banged his gavel in an attempt to regain order, succeeding several minutes later before moving the discussion onwards.

As the meeting adjourned some time later a small queue formed to talk with the new Lord Smith, leaving Harry to wonder just what the disgraced professor's endgame may be.

* * *

"...and then the Covington's dog jumped on the table!"

Gabrielle let out a laugh at her niece, only half paying attention to her story as they traipsed around Whisper Alley hand-in-hand in their new, matching dark blue cardigans, stopping to admire the ice sculptures and various pieces of artwork as they went.

"Your mother tells me you have a cute little boyfriend, Robbie? Is that his name?"

Victoire scrunched her nose and her light blue eyes narrowed. "He only likes me because I'm veela."

Gabrielle sighed. Apolline had gotten in her niece's ear. "It's never good to assume that, Victoire."

Her advice fell on deaf ears as the nine year old dragged her to a well done poster of a red-haired man with a pale complexion and a kind smile. "It's Uncle Ron!" Victoire yelled excitedly.

"Weasley for Ward Nine!" The poster exclaimed. Gabrielle didn't share the posters enthusiasm. There was no place in politics for good men and she wondered why Hermione would ever push her husband into such a thankless endeavor.

Turning on Gabrielle with sea blue eyes and pouting lips, a perfect imitation of the girls mother, Victoire pleaded. "Can we go by the joke store? Please? Pretty please?"

She caved immediately; if she wasn't able to resist her own goddaughter she pitied the future men in her life. "Of course my love. But only for a few minutes."

They continued on their way, making their way to the famous shop in under five minutes, pausing briefly to read the plaque outside the shop marking 'Weasley's Wizard Wheezes' as a historical site.

"_Founded in 1996 by Fred and George Weasley. 'Weasley's Wizard Wheezes' served as a refuge for half-bloods and muggleborns during the second war with the Dark Lord Voldemort. Throughout the course of the war, the Weasley brothers shepherded over two hundred men, women and children through this store, to safety."_

Tears welled in her eyes as she thought about the impact the Weasley family had had on this world. Would she ever make such an impact? Could she ever make such an impact?

"Princess Victoire!" The jovial voice of George Weasley boomed over the crowd of customers. "UNCLE GEORGE!" Her niece roared, wrestling her hand from Gabrielle's and charging at her uncle who was waiting to scoop her up in her arms. "How's Fred?" He asked with a smile, referring to her nieces unicorn.

Victoire got an excited look on her face. "He's white now George! And very sweet. Uncle Charlie taught me how to mount him!"

"Ride him, Victoire." Gabrielle said in amusement. "Uncle Charlie taught you how to ride Fred."

The conversation between the two children continued for several minutes until Victoire ran off to pick out a free item courtesy of her uncle, leaving Gabrielle alone to talk with George.

"How's the session going?" She asked, knowing George would have been listening to what the wizengamot had to say.

The frown she got from George in return looked out of place on his kind face. "You'd think Harry massacred a village."

She frowned. It was to be expected. Despite what some may think, being Harry Potter wasn't all pixie dust and roses. Everyone wants to take down a legend.

"Putain d'idiots!" She exclaimed, switching to French.

"My thoughts exactly." George responded, able to get the gist of what she was saying even if he didn't speak the language.

They left the shop several minutes later, Gabrielle still in a sour mood at the briefing George had given her. Looking to quelch her anger she turned to Victoire with a smile. "You know Victoire." She said, grabbing the girls attention as they waded their way through diagon alley. "I heard Fortescue's has a new flavor of ice cream, if you promise not to tell your mother we can grab a scoop?"

She had been given clear instructions not to give the hyperactive child sugar but was eager to ignore her older sister. She was Victoire's aunt. It was her responsibility to spoil her niece.

"I promise!" The little veela said with a delighted squeal.

Five minutes later the two were splitting a banana split under a heating lamp on the famous ice cream shops patio.

It was her first time at the shop since Harry had explained the special place it held in his heart. The late Florean Fortescue would treat him to a daily scoop while helping him with his history homework as he lived in the alley the summer before his third year.

Harry spoke of the summer before his third year as though it was the experience of a lifetime, a time in his childhood where he was free from the Dursleys, yet Voldemort had not yet returned to terrorize him.

Frankly she found it wildly irresponsible that the Minister of Magic would allow a soon-to-be thirteen year old to live by himself above a tavern when they all suspected his murderous godfather, who had just escaped from prison, was out to kill him.

"Gabby!" An unwelcome American accent called through the patio, disrupting her thoughts.

'_Great.' _

She didn't bother affixing a smile to her face, there was no need to hide her annoyance. "Hello Aiden." She said, greeting her old hookup neutrally.

"It's been a long time." He said with a handsome smile that showed off a perfect set of white teeth. "How've ya been?"

"Ok. Just having a girls' day with my niece." She kept her answer short, going out of her way to not inquire about the vain man. There was nothing to be gained from indulging his ego.

Her non-relationship with the tall man had been convenient and physical, nothing more, nothing less. It hardly warranted an extended conversation.

Aiden glanced at Victoire who hadn't looked up from the banana split. "Your boy got in quite the spat the other night!" He said with a slight laugh. "Thirteen attackers!"

She frowned. There was a bit too much joy in the older man's voice. "Harry can handle himself, Aiden. You know that."

He smirked. "Of course he can. Though rumor has it he took quite the beating! Maybe he's losing a step?"

Despite Harry's claims to the contrary, she had always gotten the impression that Aiden saw Harry more as a rival than a friend. "He drove off thirteen mercenaries while stoned, I'm not sure I'd call that 'losing a step.' You seem to know an awful lot about the attack, Aiden."

The man smiled. "My position has its perks." He said vaguely. Aiden had always been so proud of his role in the warlocks; the only downside seemed to be that he couldn't constantly brag about his accomplishments. Pesky oaths. "Besides, Parvati filled me in on some of the details. That minx knows everything. She was telling me she took up your cause?"

Gabrielle frowned at his choice of words. The veela were not a cause that needed pity. "She's been very supportive."

"Yes." Aiden replied, a glint in his eyes. "She's one hell of a woman."

"Aunt Gabby I'm BORED!" Victoire complained, the banana split container empty in front of her.

'_Thank merlin.' _She thought. "Excuse us Aiden." She said as she grabbed her niece by the hand and left the shop. Eager to put some distance between herself and the warlock.

* * *

He let the memory replay for what seemed like the hundredth time, this time starting from when he noticed the lamp near his shop flickering.

At the time he had assumed a malfunction in the magic, yet the schematics he had stolen from Lord Corner's office had that particular lamp labeled as a security lamp, it would have caught the entire attack and provided him with close up footage of his attackers. Yet from where he was in conjunction to them he couldn't see their faces, he couldn't see any identifying marks.

Frowning he paused the memory one more time, this time isolating the sound to hone in on the lone voice from his attackers.

"_Затянуть петлю!"_

The accent was perfect but the phrasing wasn't. "_Tighten the noose!" _

Harry smiled. That wasn't a Russian colloquialism. It was english, American. The Russian was a red herring.

He watched intently as he restarted the memory, the six remaining mercs followed the direction of their leader as said leader disappeared from view into his shop.

Mercenaries didn't ascribe to a hierarchy, and Gringotts wouldn't need a damn thing from his shop.

He frowned. His own security system had been disabled, which was impressive in its own right, yet several sweeps of the place revealed no monitoring charms or other espionage measures, and nothing was missing. So what the hell was going on?

Withdrawing from the memory he poured himself a glass of Dalmore 18. This wasn't goblins. The goblins wanted his blood, this team drew blood, almost instantaneously.

His frown deepened. Was it the Monkey's Paw? If he discounted the goblins than it seemed likely. If they were organized enough to kidnap twenty five veela then they were informed enough to know who was looking into them. How much did they know about his investigation?

'_Shite.' _He thought to himself as he stood up, heading towards the backroom, the final piece of the puzzle clicking into place. He sighed as he glanced at the tack board covered in pictures connected by yarn.

They wanted to see what he knew.

* * *

She hated tea. Earl Grey - with its black base and citrusy taste - she found the watery leaves abhorrent. Still, Gabrielle drank it, following each sip with a bite of a finger sandwich as the recently widowed Lady Malfoy sat across from her, bags under her doe eyes, her hair uncharacteristically casual, a look of grief and confusion on her face; the attractive woman was in over her head and hadn't quite realized it yet.

It had been Harry who had recommended reaching out to the grieving widow; for a man that hated politics he sure understood them.

She'd had a reply from Lady Malfoy not two hours later inviting her to tea that afternoon.

"I wanted to let you know, Astoria, despite what was said in the wizengamot neither myself, nor Harry, believe a word Lord Smith said regarding those terrible accusations regarding your husband or his business." She placed both hands on her heart as she talked, if she was right about Astoria then over the top theatrics was the key to her heart.

Her companions body language seemed to perk up at her kind words and a smile, the first true smile of the afternoon graced Astoria Malfoy's face. "Thank you, Gabrielle." Her tone was gracious and sincere. "It means the world to me. Did you know you're the only one outside of Lucius and Narcissa to check on me? Everyone else would only send owls." She spat the last part.

Years of practice kept her from scowling at the adoration in Astoria's voice when she mentioned the two war criminals.

"How uncouth." She responded simply, choking down another sip of tea.

'_Maybe Harry was right.' _When he mentioned that Astoria Malfoy would be isolated and alone after the death of her husband she had laughed in his face, but he had insisted. And who knew the Malfoy family better than Harry Potter?

They sat at a small table within Malfoy Manor overlooking snow covered trees and a small courtyard.

"How's Scorpious?" She was more sincere this time, Scorpious wasn't his father or his grandfather. Frankly with the death of his father and the exile of his grandparents the boy had a shot at a normal life. '_I wonder if Harry would kill Lucius?' _

"He's confused, he doesn't understand. Lucius told him about Draco's death, said it was best to be blunt with him so the healing could begin, but he keeps asking when da's coming home, he's just three, he doesn't understand." She sobbed. "I relive my love's death every time he asks!"

Gabrielle stood up; walking over to her sitting hostess, she crouched down slightly to engulf her in a firm hug, holding her as she cried into her breast. "How can I be there for you?" She said softly.

Astoria's expressive light brown eyes turned on her; despite being two years younger than the woman she couldn't help but feel as though she were comforting her younger sister. "Join me for lunch tomorrow? It's time for me to be seen publicly, but I don't want to be alone."

Gabrielle thought of the possible implications. Lord Smith had all but accused Astoria's husband of kidnapping over two dozen of her people, if she was seen publicly with her it would be seen as the Zekanot rejecting that notion. Could she do that without consulting the Zekanot, Elder Monclair?

"_She has the right to name a representative to both the Wizengamot and the Hogwarts Board of Governors."_

This was about the long-term future of the veela in Britain, this was about Victoire. This was to ensure that she didn't become another Harriet Meyers.

Astoria lusted after her, she could smell it.

"_They both were sleeping with my old dormmate, Lavender Brown."_

"_From the Prophet?"_

"_Yeah."_

"What time?"

* * *

He watched Seamus greet the man from beneath his invisibility cloak in the corner of the seedy bar and followed as they slipped out the back without ordering a drink.

Joining the two in an alley, Harry got a better look at the man Seamus was meeting with; tall and muscular with a well-defined jawline, jet black hair and olive skin. The man's dark brown eyes glossed over Seamus in a bored manner as his friend presented the younger man with his paw. Seeing it, the other man nodded slightly before grabbing Seamus's hand and disappearing without a sound.

Harry's holly and phoenix feather wand was in motion the moment the pair disappeared as he worked to trace the latent magic to a singular location outside Glasgow.

Arriving at the destination, an empty field, a second later Harry's wand was once again in motion, again tracing the magic, this time to a muggle alleyway in London, the third trace led him to the cliffs of Dover before finally he landed outside a wrought iron fence in Cornwall, his friend impaled through the heart displayed for all to see atop the fence. The message was clear.

'_Shite.' _He thought from beneath his cloak. He didn't want for this to happen. '_Seamus offered you the information. He knew there was danger.' _Harry told himself, not quite able to shake the guilt he was feeling.

He sighed as he pushed aside those thoughts to run a few diagnostics charms from beneath his invisibility cloak, desperate to find a way into whatever meeting Seamus thought he was to attend.

He frowned as he read the results. Cursebreaking had never been a specialty of Harry's. '_I'll need Bill.' _

Turning to leave, he paused as a familiar man donning a tunic arrived, a nervous excitement expressed across his features.

Seeing the familiar berber Harry's own lips upturned into a cruel smile. Fighting the urge to kidnap the man then and there, Harry put the disgusting creature under the most advanced tracking charm he knew and sat down.

All he had to do was wait for Aderfi to leave.

* * *

**A/N: **Hi kids, do you like violence?

Fun fact; "blonde" is referring to a woman's hair. "Blond" refers to the hair color of a male. I don't know why.


	9. Chapter 9

**Disclaimer: **I don't own a thing

**A/N: **As a reminder my profile will have the progress of the current chapter.

The reserve in Menton was an oasis of beauty with its open green spaces, marvelous fountains, citrus trees, its cute architecture accentuating nature, not to mention it's desirable residents.

She smiled as she approached one who couldn't be older than sixteen. "Excuse me." She said kindly, affixing a well-practiced smile to her face. "I'm looking for Ambassador Delacour?" The young veela smiled effortlessly. "Follow the path to the square, her and her niece were climbing trees."

"Thank you…" She said, hoping the veela would take the hint. "Aimee." She smiled at the veela, a little wider this time. "Named after your mother?" The veela shook her head. "I wouldn't know, ma'am, my parents gave me up at the first sign of accidental magic."

She offered Aimee a sad smile, holding it for a flash before placing a more kind, welcoming look back on her face. "I'm much too young to be a ma'am." She teased, gently placing several fingers on the creature's forearm, causing the teenager to blush prettily. "Please, call me Parvati."

"Well Parvati." Aimee offered with a bit of confidence, empowered by Parvati's welcoming nature, "if you'd like, I can walk you to the square."

"I'd like that." She replied before offering the girl her arm. "You lead the way."

The duo chatted as they walked, Parvati's own mind on the upcoming meeting. Not for the first time she wondered if she was playing the role of Icarus.

"Lady Patil." A pair of voices - one child-like, one confident and youthful, proclaimed as Aimee left her with a lingering smile. Parvati was no Lady and the veela approaching her knew it. "Ambassador Delacour, Victoire." She replied, greeting each with a chaste kiss to each cheek.

They made small talk as they walked the rest of the way to the unassuming office of Annette Monclair. The idea of the meeting excited and frightened her in equal parts, she wondered if it was too much.

Still, the decision had been made, she had agreed to the idea and that was that, there was no backing out now; her reputation wouldn't survive it.

"Elder Monclair, thank you for making the time."

"Thank you for your services." Her lips smiled but the veela's eyes bore into her with dangerous intensity. "I have an interest in beauty and coin, Elder Monclair," Parvati said, her words genuine; "you and the Zekanot are beautiful and you're paying me a lot of money." There was a time when she tried to play the gracious idealist; Padma didn't buy it and neither did society. The truth, in this particular instance, played.

Elder Monclair's eyes softened - it would appear as though the leader of the Veela agreed.

The three of them sat in the sparsely decorated circular room; she allowed her eyes to linger on the favored child longer than necessary, as though curious about her inclusion.

Gabrielle caught her not-so-subtle gesture and answered on behalf of the room. "Victoire is here to observe, she will behave herself. Isn't that right?"

The child nodded cutely towards her aunt as she placed a notebook and pen on the desk in front of her. "Of course, Ambassador."

Should she live long enough, Victoire would become Elder Weasley, taking over for her aunt, who, shall she live long enough, would become Elder Potter - if she were to hazard a guess - who would take over for Elder Monclair.

The species prided itself on their perceived democracy when in actuality they lived in a monarchy masquerading as a plutocracy. In that sense they were deserving of a full voting membership in the ICW.

"Good." Gabrielle responded, more than a hint of pride in her body language. '_How the hell did this idiot persuade so many?' _Gabrielle Delacour had hypnotized every person she had ever met, even prude, cautious Padma raved about the creatures wit and intelligence. In her moments with her, Parvati saw a veela wearing her heart on her sleeve, a simpleton.

Her eyes turned to the tiny creature with blood red hair and ice blue eyes and she found herself smiling inadvertently - '_is she her kryptonite?'_

"Lady Patil." Elder Monclair spoke, her cadence an eerie calm. "Where do we stand with the Wizengamot?"

Flint, the inbred maniac, could never be counted on to support creature rights in the ICW without an ultimatum from the Wizengamot; she and Hermione had been tasked with whipping up that supermajority.

"With Lord Smith and the Macmillans the veela have the majority of the centrists, though even with the progressives, we're eight votes short of the supermajority needed."

"Umhm." Was Elder Monclair's response, a blank stare on her face. Next to her Gabrielle had a nearly imperceptible smile on her features. '_Interesting.' _They have votes she didn't know about.

"We will push forward as planned." Elder Monclair replied calmly before her niece added; "after the election."

'_Interesting.' _Her mind raced. The veela were eight votes short. Even working under the assumption that Ron and Fay Dunbar won seats and threw their support behind the proposal they lacked the votes to force the issue.

"_You'll never believe who went to comfort Astoria…" _

"Even with Ron, Fay, and the Malfoy seat you're still five votes shy."

Gabrielle's eyes narrowed, but her leader looked amused. "Yes, well we all have our secrets, don't we?"

A chill raced down her spine. '_Do they already know?' _Her intelligence suggested otherwise, though it was only a matter of time. Harry was the best. It had been foolish of her to think he could be overwhelmed in an ambush.

Glancing back, first at Gabrille Delacour, then Annette Monclair and finally Victoire Weasley she smiled. Daedalus had warned Icarus where his hubris would lead him, and his son hadn't listened.

She wasn't Icarus, she was a Ker.

Parvati smiled sweetly. "Of course."

* * *

He appeared in the alleyway near Marissa and Tara's abduction in silence, quickly making his way from the alleyway and to the large pier overlooking the Meditteranean Sea, his green eyes diligent as they scanned the area.

Something had tripped the wards surrounding Aderfis stand.

The man hadn't re-appeared from the mansion the other night and Harry had been chastising himself for his mistake ever since. He went all in too soon. Snatching the man would have provided him with clarity. Instead he had been arrogant and greedy in his assumption that the man would exit the way he entered. Aderfi hadn't been seen since, maybe they killed him?

From beneath the sleeve of his blue and red checkered oxford he cast several diagnostics searching for latent magic in the area, analyzing the results with a frown. '_Muggleborn child, under seven.' _Not Aderfi.

The Monkey's Paw operated in a strict hierarchy, according to Crabbe and Goyle. They reported to Pansy. Pansy reported to a nameless, faceless woman. The woman would provide intel to Pansy, Pansy would provide the prudent information to them. Crabbe and Goyle were paid on delivery. Small, efficient communication groups. Fortunately that information didn't make its way onto the board until after the attack.

It disturbed him that someone had so easily entered his shop, passing through the wards with ease.

He hired Bill to fix the security on his shop, courtesy of the Zekanot.

Harry took a quick lap of the pier just to make sure, but found nothing.

He sighed. He had convinced himself it wouldn't come to this, but it was unavoidable at this point, Aderfi appeared to be a dead end.

Checking the necessary tracking charm Harry smiled grimly, Ollie was alone at home.

* * *

She smiled brightly, drawing Astoria's attention to her blood-red lips, not balking at the look on her face. Gabrielle looked good and she knew it; black pants and blazer covering a royal blue oxford; accessorized with a rose gold muggle wristwatch with a black leather band. The watch had been made for a man but Gabrielle didn't mind, she had always preferred the more intricate dial features offered on a mens watch. To top it all off she had tied her thick, blonde hair into a bun, tightening the skin on her face ever-so-slightly, accentuating her endearing dimples and perfect teeth.

She wore the same thing to the ICW when stumping for veela recognition.

The importance of impressions had been a pillar of her education with Annette. How you look, how you dress, your handshake, your attitude, whether you look someone in the eye or not - all determine how someone will perceive you, for better or worse. Gabrielle needed Astoria to take her seriously.

"Thank you for allowing Rose and Victoire to spend the afternoon at Malfoy Manor." She began with a smile. "Victoire will appreciate the interior design, particularly the layout of the formal room and your library, if I were to guess."

Astoria seemed to relax visibly at her chosen subjects. Her child and her home. "Yes. Rose Weasley would be a proper friend for Scorpius." She paused to take a sip of her spritzer. "Victoire is interested in interior design then?" Astoria asked, her eyes lighting up, it was a happy coincidence that her niece and Astoria Malfoy shared an interest.

"Oh yes." She replied with a pleasant smile. "Fleur allowed her to design a sitting room this past spring. It's very Bohemian."

"She's such an ambitious girl." Astoria said fondly. "And quite pretty as well. They'd make quite the match, someday."

She pitied Astoria and the traditions that left her thinking about her three year old son's future marriage. With her older sister being barren the task of carrying on the Greengrass name fell to her producing enough sons for both the Malfoy and Greengrass family's. With her husband dead and her son so young, it would be uncouth for her to date until after her son graduated from Hogwarts.

The duty fell to Scorpius then to keep two ancient bloodlines alive. With all that on Astoria's mind she didn't need to worry about the Wizengamot, the Board of Governors.

"If someday they fall in love, my family wouldn't object."

They fell into a comfortable silence as they slowly drank. Gabrielle was patient, she'd let Astoria set the pace.

Merlin she loved these games.

"Thank you."

"For what?"

"For accompanying me in public."

"It's no big deal." Gabrielle said with a smile, keenly aware of the way the other patrons were leaning in in vain attempts to eavesdrop.

Astoria smiled. She really was quite beautiful herself. A widow at twenty six; shame she couldn't be with someone publicly, she'd be quite the catch. "Still, it's noted."

They fell silent once more. Everyone was different and Astoria was patient. "How are you?" Gabrielle finally asked, earning an easy smile. "There's so much going on, all the time it's hard to balance responsibilities for the family with the responsibilities of being a mother. But I'm well. Scorpius is settling which has allowed me to mourn a bit." She turned from Gabrielle briefly and when she looked back her smile was gone, a look of fear on her face. "My husband was a good man." She started. "But he was associated with many bad men. I understand how that makes him look, how that makes me look."

There were unshed tears in her brown eyes but Astoria didn't let them fall, nor did she dip her head at the quasi-acknowledgment that her husband was involved with criminals. She carried herself with pride and grace. There was something free about not giving a damn what the world thought of you.

"I try not to judge. I didn't know him very well, he was always courteous to me."

Her lunch date smiled softly before a long-off look on Astoria's face took reign over her momentarily. "But Harry did." She said airily. "Shortly after the war Draco told me how Harry spared his family, how he let them leave the battlefield despite their violent history with one another." Astoria paused to collect herself before turning to look Gabrielle in the eyes. "I honestly think at the end nobody knew my husband like him."

How sad her statement was; wealthy, handsome, and charming without a friend in the world. How lonely it must have been to be surrounded by so many people yet feel so alone. Harry would never admit it but the death of Draco Malfoy had its effect on him. Draco was the first wizard he met that was his own age, their fates always seemed so intertwined. "It's an oddity of life how often the only people that truly understand us are our rivals."

Astoria looked as though she wanted to respond but thought better of it and finished her spritzer instead. "Look at them." She said with a sweeping gesture at the various patrons eyeing them intently. "Vultures awaiting my demise so they can pick at the carcass of my family."

Her tone straddled the line between desperate and spiteful, fluctuating with each syllable. Gabrielle smiled, placing a comforting hand on hers before staring into her eyes. "How can I be there for you?"

Astoria beamed - it was the small things that made all the difference; a kind word, a tight hug, an invitation to cry should they need it. Emotional intelligence, the muggles called it; veela just called it being a good friend.

"You're already doing it." She said kindly. "I need someone to talk to, to meet up with, to give me advice when I need it." Her statement was rushed and lacked the self-assured gravitas Gabrielle had come to expect, and in that moment Gabrielle knew what she had to do.

"I'll be here for you in any way you need, Astoria."

The use of the older woman's name caused the widow to smile kindly as several tears spilled from her eyes. "Thank you, Gabrielle. Your friendship means the world to me."

* * *

He appeared silently on a winding gravel path surrounded by snow covered evergreens and followed it around till it gave way to a modest two story victorian home. Harry had been here before, years ago with Ginny shortly before her death. They had been joined by Alicia, Angelina, Katie, and George; it was the last time he had played quidditch.

Harry paused to cast a few diagnostic charms and wasn't surprised at the lack of security; few people knew where Oliver Wood lived so advanced security had become an afterthought; basic security wards would alert his old quidditch captain to intruders but wouldn't make him aware of Harry's presence, he'd taken the necessary steps to ensure that.

He used to think that Oliver Wood was an anomaly amongst purebloods; he had no title. Both his parents worked; he didn't take holiday in Majorca or St. Barts, and he never seemed to be able to afford the more ostentatious novelties of their peers. The only other pureblood families he knew of with similar circumstances had been the Lovegoods and the Weasleys. It wasn't until after he graduated from the prestigious boarding school that he learned of the other school's in the Isles - Welch's, Fuzzworth's, and the British School of Magic all catered to the average witch or wizard.

Oliver hadn't grown up with money and when he earned some of his own the only thing he wanted was a quidditch pitch in the yard. Harry doubted he had ever given thought to much else.

A quick 'hominem revelio' told him his old captain was alone.

Silencing his shoes and throwing on his invisibility cloak, Harry made his way to the front door, he was about to unlock it when he paused - Oliver wasn't a threat to him. The man had no interest in combat, only quidditch.

Removing his cloak he rang the doorbell.

He didn't have to wait long for Oliver, the massive man appeared less than thirty seconds later wearing a surprised look. "Harry!" He said in delight, engulfing him in a bone crushing hug. "What an unexpected surprise! Here to take me up on my offer, eh?"

Harry nearly cut right to the chase before thinking better of it. "You're getting old, Wood!" He said with a slightly forced grin. "I bet I can get two out of five passed ya now!"

In his fourth year, when he should have been preparing for the tournament, Harry had taken to helping Oliver prepare for the PQL scouting combine. He and Katie Bell would spend hours trying to think of ways to best the teenager who would become the greatest keeper in the sport's thousand year history. At his peak Harry could sneak three out of five past him; last time he had been here he'd only managed one. The last time the two had spoken Ollie bet him a pint he couldn't get more than one past him anymore - not with the layoff.

A mischievous look crossed the older man's face, he didn't even question the abruptness of the visit and instead invited him inside.

"Can I get ya a drink?" Ollie asked as they passed through the comfortable living room and into the kitchen. "A cherry coke would be nice." Ollie smiled lovingly, his boyish features lighting up as he handed him a can. He adored the muggle soda, spurning better offers from wizarding beverages in order to become the first player in the PQL to endorse a muggle product. The move had paid dividends, literally.

Oliver wasn't a cruel man. He thought to himself as he gazed out the large bay windows and towards the full size pitch the keeper had erected at the banks of a small, frozen pond surrounded by several willow trees. Harry had met cruel men, ruthlessly ambitious men that would sell their mothers to slavers to get ahead in life. Oliver wasn't like them. Oliver was conflict averse. He always had been. He propped people up, he didn't cut them down.

He took a sip of the cold, sugary beverage, his eyes shutting involuntarily as he let out a pleased "ahh."

Ollie smiled in amusement. "They all made fun of me when I spurned Boot Beverages for Coca Cola, now look at them."

If he were a businessman Harry would argue that Oliver Wood endorsing the obscure muggle product opened the company up to a whole new market segment, they'd even acquired 'Boot Beverages' a few years back.

"Not me mate. I grew up with muggles, remember?"

Oliver's laugh was deep and hearty as he led him onto the temperature controlled deck, down the stairs and to the path leading to the pristine quidditch pitch.

"I admit, Wood. I forgot a broom." Oliver smiled. "Just pretend you're facing down a dragon, Harry. I'm sure ya remember the spell."

He laughed and all of a sudden he was fourteen again. "Accio broom!" He yelled obnoxiously with an exaggerated flourish of his wand.

A brand new 'Firebolt X' appeared, rocketing towards him several seconds later, on instinct he jumped into the air and landed on the broom in one motion before rifling off into the cold afternoon sky with a 'whoop' of joy.

Merlin he missed flying. Why had he ever stopped?

Pressing his body close to the broom handle he accelerated and ascended at a breakneck speed; his trusty old Firebolt was a slow relic compared to this.

A quaffle entered his vision slightly lower and to his right. Harry gripped the broomstick tightly with his thighs and leaned to the right till his body was completely upside down, plucking the quaffle out of the air, shimmying left and right as he approached the empty hoops, feinting towards the right before throwing the quaffle through the far left.

"Not bad Potter!" Oliver yelled; even after all these years he found the encouraging, demanding tone of the former Gryffindor quidditch captain to be oddly comforting. The sport had been his first love and Oliver had taught it to him. "But your eyes gave you away!"

He took a few more laps and a few more shots on the empty hoops before Ollie joined him in the air a few minutes later.

Harry smirked, momentarily forgetting why he was at the man's home in the first place as he tore down the pitch at near top speed, hoping to catch the two-time world champion off-guard on his first attempt.

As he approached Ollie slowly backed towards the hoops, positioning his shoulders in a manner that meant to force him right.

Harry began to comply before he smirked. '_How good are the controls on this thing?' _He took a hard, abrupt left, switching the quaffle to his left hand before tossing the quaffle towards the far left hoop.

Ollie made the save with ease.

A good keeper saved thirty three percent of the shots he faced.

Oliver's career save percentage was fifty one percent, best in PQL history.

"Not bad Harry, but you're rusty!" Oliver said with an easy laugh as he tossed him the quaffle for his second attempt.

This time he played it slow, dipping, diving, and feinting his way towards the hoops, unleashing the quaffle towards the center hoop this time, only to be turned away again.

The act repeated itself three more times with similar results.

"It's okay, Harry!" Ollie said with a slap to his back once they were back on the ground. "As far as amateurs go, you're still better than Spinnet!"

He joined Ollie in his laughter at the inside joke. Alicia had always been the weak link among the Gryffindor chasers. Not that she was bad, far from it; just that Angelina Johnson and Katie Bell had been that prolific. Three members of that legendary team had gone on to play in the Premier Quidditch League, two of them went on to become world champions.

"Ehhh I was hoping to sneak a few by an old man!"

The thirty one year old laughed once more. "I'm not that old mate!"

He waited till they were back in the kitchen before getting to the point. "I didn't come here for quidditch, Oliver." He said with a bit of force, causing the man's face to take on a look of befuddlement at the sudden change in his demeanor.

"Then why are you here, Harry?"

Beneath his shirt he positioned his wand just in case. "You're one of my oldest friends Ollie, be truthful and we can work together on this. What was the deal you struck with Flint?"

Oliver's jaw clenched and his eyes narrowed, Harry could tell by the look on his face that Oliver wanted to deny any such deal existed. Harry prayed he wouldn't.

Then the older man sighed, his shoulders drooping and a look of resignation crossed his face as he opened his ice box, grabbing them each a can of coke; he handed Harry one before opening it with a crack and turned from him and back towards his pitch.

"Did you know I was slated to go to Welch's?" He asked rhetorically, his back still to him. "My family didn't have the money to spend on the entrance exam for Hogwarts, nor were we poor enough to qualify for an exemption or a traditional scholarship the ministry forces Hogwarts to hand out."

Harry stayed silent, waiting for his friend to continue.

"Then, three days before term was set to begin at Welch's, I was playing quidditch for a local team in Diagon Alley."

He could see the slight smile on Ollie's face through the reflection in the window.

"I was only eleven but I was playing with thirteen year olds. I made twelve saves. Four of them were on a Hufflepuff named Ewen McGonagall - though I didn't know it at the time."

Oliver paused as he took a large sip of his coke.

"His aunt Minerva was at that game. She offered me a spot at Hogwarts then and there, full scholarship and everything! My parents were so proud. A Wood would finally attend Hogwarts."

He turned back around to face him, a sad look on his face. "It's not just quidditch I love, Harry. I love the early morning practices. I love bonding in the locker room and forging those friendships. I love seeing us progress as a team. Hell one of the happiest days of my life was when you beat Higgs to the snitch your first year. It was my first game as a captain and I had been so nervous."

He paused again, his left hand trembling ever so slightly at his side. "I don't need any of this," he gestured around to his house. "All I've ever wanted, ever needed was to be a member of a team. They were going to take that from me."

Harry relaxed slightly, Oliver wasn't going to lie to him. "When Flint approached me it seemed so innocent. A class list and a bit of information about some of the veela I had met in exchange for another shot at the World Cup. I didn't even hesitate."

"How often did you pass this information along to Flint?" He asked, his voice light. Harry didn't want to spook Oliver, not when he was being this forthcoming.

"Three times, though he keeps asking me for more information."

"Why did you stop?"

A tear rolled down his cheek. "I didn't know, Harry. Not until you told me while you were there. I didn't know any veela had gone missing." He sobbed openly now. "Twenty five veela have disappeared because of me, Harry."

He wanted to chide him. To yell at him for his foolishness, but he couldn't, not yet.

"I'm going to need you to come with me to Menton, Ollie." He said softly. "Tell us everything. You can't make it right, but you can help us save some lives."

His friend looked miserable. "Of course, Harry."

Harry went over to the broken man and grabbed him by the wrist. Disappearing a half-second later.

* * *

She tapped her foot in the back corner of the small Hogsmeade home impatiently. They were late; if their tardiness made her late for drinks with Lav she'd kill them.

She chuckled audibly at her little joke.

The information from Harry's shop alerted them to Crabbe and Goyle's unfortunate situation, they were a liability, even if they hadn't seen her face.

"_But Parkinson has." _ The voice in her head reminded her, and who knew what that dumb bitch had told the two.

"It's about time." She said impatiently as first Crabbe, then Parkinson, and finally Goyle entered the quaint home.

She spent a moment examining Crabbe and Goyle, staring deep into those dull eyes, starting an internal timer as she waited for the dullards to blink.

'_1,' _one surefire way to tell if someone is under the influence of the imperius was to count the seconds between blinks.

'_2,' _"three minutes, Kali." Parkinson answered, using her code name.

'_3,' _She had enjoyed picking it out. Ultimately choosing 'Kali' over 'Sekhmet' for how the name rolled off the tongue.

'_4.' _Finally, a blink.

Parvati didn't hesitate. Lunging forward with her dagger drawn, she thrust it through Crabbe's larynx before spinning on her heel, jabbing Goyle three times in the gut with the curved blade.

"Petrificus Totalus." She whispered, hitting Parkinson in the chest with a full body bind before the bigger woman could react.

Walking over to the still-alive Gregory Goyle, Parvati stomped on the man's groin several times. "That's for getting handsy with my sister in fifth year, you son of a bitch."

Heading over to Parkinson, she relished the look of fear in her eyes; cherishing the tingling sensation it sent down her spine.

Squatting down as she stood over the vile creature, Parvati smiled. "I'm going to enjoy this." She said as she twirled a carving knife in her long, thin fingers.

She carved delicately, drawing the deed out for as long as possible before standing to admire her work.

A large grin on her face, Parvati took out the burner phone and took a picture of the still living Pansy Parkinson, a large lightning bolt carved into her forehead.

She cackled wickedly at her work before dropping to her knees and stabbing the woman several times through the liver and lungs. Staring into her eyes as Parkinson drew her last breaths.

Satisfied with her work, Parvati cleaned herself up before exiting out the home's back entrance.

She was about to apparate away when an idea crossed her mind.

"_Why not." _ The voice said.

"Morsmordre!" She whispered before apparating off, three minutes late for drinks with Lav.

* * *

He watched as Aderfi shut the door to his small home a week after Harry's mistake.

Silently he put up anti apparition, floo, and portkey wards on the small home in suburban Nice before following those up with wards on the windows and front berber wouldn't escape from him this time.

"20:00; suspect enters his home. Wards layered to prevent escape." If something went wrong here he needed to be able to justify his actions.

The home was small, one hundred meters squared, two rooms, one bathroom, a front and back exit. He entered the home from the back entrance which entered into the small first bedroom.

"Entering from the rear through the suspects room." He said clearly, calm in the knowledge that nobody could hear him.

The house smelled of cumin, Harry noted as he moved swiftly through the room and into the living area. Aderfi had his back to him, humming himself a tune as he cooked.

Harry smiled as he hit the large man with 'petrificus totalus,' petrifying him as he collapsed to the floor.

Unsilencing himself and making himself visible, Harry calmly walked his way over to the man. "I told you I'd see you again, you fat prick." He said as a pair of beady eyes looked at him. The man was terrified.

'_Hominem revelio.' _He thought, making sure to cover his bases.

'_Girl, age eight.' _His eyes lit up. "Tara." He whispered to himself as he shot Aderfi a look of hatred. "TARA!" He yelled as he set off at a run towards the second bedroom, unlocking it with a flourish.

A look of relief overcame him when he saw the silver haired girl with terrified green eyes in a revealing outfit.

The relief was fleeting as he caught sight of the various cameras throughout the room, quickly being replaced with disgust.

'_Not now. She needs you.' _

"It's okay Tara, I'm here to help.

The girl trembled with terror, pushing herself up against the wall as tears fell down her face.

"Je t'en prie, non."

"C'est bon, je suis là pour aider." To exemplify his point he pointed to the petrified Aderfi several meters away.

Upon seeing her captive on the ground, Tara's demeanor changed as she let out a blood curdling scream, sprinting towards the man, grabbing a knife off the counter and burying it into the older man's throat several times before Harry had a chance to react.

He stood their numb as the child kept stabbing the dead man till she tired and began to cry.

* * *

**AN: **Global pandemics get me writing.


	10. Chapter 10

**Disclaimer: **JKR owns the characters

* * *

"...and that means equal opportunities for all intelligent beings!"

The applause was thunderous. To her left Harry clapped enthusiastically at his best friend's speech. Next to him stood the de facto leader of the progressive wing of the Wizengamot, Hermione, a look of admiration on her face as she watched her husband deliver his victory speech. Hermione stood next to her former classmate and Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot, Lady Susan Bones, a smug look on her own face as she applauded politely at all the right places.

"If you pay your fair share in taxes, and abide by the laws set forth by the ministry, you deserve a voice in our society, and we will fight for you on the international stage!"

Gabrielle beamed, her palms numb from applause. To her right Lady Malfoy, donned in the black robes of a mourning widow joined in her revelry, next to her stood Terrence Higgs; leader of the traditionalist wing of the Wizengamot.

The coalition sent a clear message. This wasn't a victory speech, Ron was outlining a broad new vision for the British Ministry, and he had the widespread support necessary to enact change.

"Britain is at a crossroads." Ron continued, a slight hesitancy to his voice, he was not a natural orator, no one would mistake him for Cicero. His awkwardness on stage, data suggested, was one of the traits that had helped endear him to voters across the political spectrum. Traditionalists respected him as a shrewd businessman who was an early adopter of emerging trends after the war; a deceptively strategic man with all the right connections. Centrists enjoyed his weariness for radical change one way or another and his diplomatic nature; while progressives respected his fight for equality and the fact that he was married to Hermione.

Astoria nudged her softly in the side of her ribs, a glint in her eye as she offered Gabrielle a smile. She had a new respect for the older witch, there was an underlying intelligence to her little charade. Gabrielle had chided herself for assuming otherwise.

Astoria leaned into her ear, shoving three cool-to-the-touch rings into her hand. "Vote Houses Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle as you see fit, the paperwork has been filed." The preceding weeks had led to this moment, the reemergence of the 'Dark Mark' a month prior had cast a negative light back on the Malfoy family. The Veela had been quick to issue a statement in support of the family. It was the Veela, afterall, who were being taunted.

She tried not to react, though she was not certain she was successful in keeping the smile from her face.

She only half paid attention to the rest of the speech, her mind on other things; the pieces were in motion.

Across the country, just outside of Dover, Fay Dunbar, flanked by Neville Longbottom, Allie MacDougall, Joseph Hinkey, and Aaron Lewis, delivered a near identical speech with an equally impressive coalition.

The Wizengamot would force the issue and Marcus Flint would have no choice but to call for hearings on Veela rights. There was no doubting it now; Gabrielle would get her shot with the ICW.

"It's so bloody tedious." Harry complained for at least the third time as they made their way down the red carpet. "I liked them better when they thought I was a drunkard!"

"I liked you better when you were a drunkard." She teased through her smile.

"Lord Potter!" An eager young reporter in his royal blue polyester suit yelled, drawing Harry's attention. "What does the reemergence of the Dark Mark say?"

"That someone can say 'Morsmordre' with a bit of 'umph.'" Harry deadpanned.

"Do you think it was death eaters?"

"No."

Harry turned to her. "They all ask the same questions." The emerald specks in his navy chambray blazer drew her to his eyes and she shivered slightly, a smile gracing her full lips. "Yes, they do; and after so much time."

It had been four weeks since Pansy Parkinson and her scarred face graced the cover of every major publication in the world; drawing Harry back into the limelight for the first time in years.

"So much for short attention spans."

He took a step back from her once they were firmly within the privacy wards of the social club where Ron's victory party was being held. A warmth rose within her as his eyes dissected her form fitting dark green dress. "The emeralds are a nice touch." He said, closing the gap between the two, his left hand fingering the silver and emerald brooch in her hair gently while his right cupped the large emerald hanging from a thin silver chain around her neck.

"Thank you." She said, kissing his lips gently.

"Any progress?" He said, killing the moment more out of necessity than desire, he was wanted elsewhere.

"She's doing well. Mind healer's say she should be able to recover." She glanced up at him with a coy smile before answering the unasked question; "soon. She'll need signoff from her legal guardian."

Harry rolled his eyes. "When will that be?"

She smirked. "I'll consult with her healers towards the end of the week. If she continues on this path I'll let you speak with her, under my supervision."

"Deal." He said with a smile and a quick sigh. "I have to go."

"Terry! Cho!" He beamed with forced excitement as he turned to greet the approaching socialites. "Great to see you both."

Gabrielle tuned them out as she seeked out a back corner table, eager to escape to a bit of privacy amongst the crowded celebration.

She took stock of the party, her eyes settling on what appeared to be a good conversation between Astoria and Hermione near the front of the room; Hermione in her periwinkle dress, Astoria in black.

It had been a savvy move, appointing Gabrielle as the proxy for the three seats. Astoria had wanted to reform the Malfoy name and was doing a damn fine job of doing it, if she did say so herself.

Victoire raved about Astoria's abilities as a tutor. Bill and Fleur had been happy to allow Astoria and their daughter to redecorate a few old rooms. The familiarity had brought about a feeling of comfort and trust, all leading to this.

Glancing not-so-subtly their way every-so-often was the recently ascended Lord Higgs, who had replaced his grandfather the year prior. She noted the looks before allowing her eyes to wander once more; past Ron and the media, past Lady Bones and the protruding belly of Hugo Reaves and to Harry and Cho Chang. She'd never liked her -

"Congratulations." A familiar voice said from beside her, disturbing Gabrielle from her thoughts.

Gabrielle turned with a confused smile, accepting the flute of champagne from Parvati. "What for?" She replied innocently, attempting to retain a shred of modesty.

Parvati made a sweeping motion with her free arm. "On all of this, you really are quite skilled."

Gabrielle allowed a satisfied smile to come across her face. "Thank you."

Parvati raised her glass. "For Victoire."

She paused for the briefest of moments at the odd toast before smiling; "for Victoire." She replied as she took a sip.

* * *

"Jeffries." She called calmly, her voice cutting through the chaos of the bar and finding the ear of the witless bartender.

The lanky man put down the drink he was making, turning to her eagerly, his aquiline nose staring down Harry, to her left. "Yes Ms. Delacour?" He said, leaning into her, eager to do whatever she desired.

"Two more Lagavulin please, and call me Gabby."

"Of course, Gabby." Jeffries savored each syllable of her name while she smiled sweetly.

She felt Harry roll his eyes from next to her. "Weak minded fool." He said to her.

"I'm standing right here, ya know."

"You shouldn't talk to him that way, Harry." She scolded gently, accepting the scotch from Jeffries. "He's working very hard."

"Thank you, Gabby. Do you need anything else?"

"I'm fine for now, Jeffries." He looked almost disappointed.

Harry laughed. "Kiss ass."

She raised a teasing eyebrow with her glass. "To our friend Jeffries!"

He took a sip of scotch while giving her the finger. "I only took a sip because I was thirsty, not for Jeffries."

They enjoyed each other's company in silence for several long minutes before Harry spoke again. "How was the meeting?"

"Michael Corner was introduced and within fifteen minutes he insisted that hearings on full Veela membership be scheduled for next month; France seconded the motion." She felt a sense of satisfaction within her as she spoke, she was one step away now. "Assuming things go well, Veela will have a full seat by summer."

"I'm surprised Flint was recalled so quickly." He said, trailing off a bit towards the end, to the best of her knowledge he had yet to confront Flint.

"I'm surprised Corner moved so quickly." She said with a bit of excitement.

The look on Harry's face said he wasn't. "Michael Corner is newly single and likes shiny objects. He'll use this as a way to meet single veela." She frowned, slightly annoyed at Harry's phrasing despite his innocent intent. She'd prefer her allies have virtuous motives but this would have to suffice. It was the outcome that mattered.

"Can you grab Jeffries? Our drinks are empty."

"Jeffries." She said softly, grabbing the bartender's attention from across the bar.

Pausing his conversation, the lanky man nearly knocked over a barback to get to her. "Two whisky gingers, please." She said with a smile.

"Irish whisky. Not scotch,bourbon, or rye. We're not picky on which whisky you choose so long as it's Irish. I can tell the difference."

"I bet you can." Jeffries muttered.

Harry turned to her, ignoring the jab. "You have to be specific with this one or he'll mess it up."

The sound of a muggle cover band filled the bar and before she knew it they were twirling around the dance floor belting song lyrics at the top of their lungs. She hadn't felt so carefree in months, she felt the muscles in her cheeks strain from smiling; is this what normal couples do?

During a break in the music a plump man with gray hair briefly pulled Harry aside, leaving her boyfriend grinning less than a minute later as he approached her, a strut in his step. "Do you wanna go to a griffin race?"

She whooped in joy as a half dozen lion-bodied, eagle-headed creatures mounted by jockeys flew past them in a blur before ascending upwards at breakneck speed, each jockey vying to be the first to pass through the final light blue ring of the lap.

As two jockeys separated themselves from the pack their griffins began to claw at each other with their massive talons, the smaller one opening a large gash on the others abdomen sending it plummeting to the ground with a loud screech, bucking the jockey some fifty meters to the ground as it did so.

The protection wards slowed the jockey's fall but gave way under the weight of the griffin, who had snapped one of his wings in the fall and was letting out an agonizing scream on the ground. Turning to the griffin, its jockey unleashed a killing curse, ending the creature's suffering.

Gabrielle had never been to a griffin race before, but had heard of the savagery. Though loosely enforced, there was a reason these races were illegal.

Back in the air the aggressive griffin had opened up a large lead heading into the final lap having been the first through nine of the twelve rings thus far.

"That was your grif, Potter." She said with a cheeky grin and an elbow to his ribs.

He frowned as he glanced down at his ticket before ripping it to pieces. "Yours is about to win."

Her grin widened and she cocked her head to the side. "Trust me Gabby, six is the best grif in this race." She cooed, mimicking his words as she collected her hundred galleons from the cashier. "Come on Potter. Fish and chips on me."

She handed him his fish and chips while he passed her the pint of Jameson they'd picked up at the muggle bodega around the corner. She took a sip, savoring the slight breeze on this unseasonably warm, spring night as the whisky burned its way down, handing it back to Harry as they took a seat on a bench in King George's Park.

"What's the deal with you and the goblin's?"

He gave her a befuddled look. "Fuck you Potter." She said with a half drunk smile. "We've never actually gone over this."

"I just assumed you knew."

"You know what they say about assumptions."

He smiled, erecting some privacy wards over them. "Are you aware of horcruxes?"

"As in the six objects, not including your scar, that held tiny pieces of Voldemort's soul within them, anchoring Voldemort to the mortal plane while causing him to descend even deeper into madness? Never heard of them."

"Cheeky bitch."

Gabrielle responded by sticking her tongue out at him.

"In 1946 Hepzibah Smith, a descendent of Helga Hufflepuff, showed two artifacts to a young Tom Riddle, who was at the time underemployed and working at Borgin and Burkes in Knockturn Alley."

No longer joking, Gabrielle found herself leaning into his every word. These were the stories that weren't captured in any book, priceless insights into the most pivotal moments in British history.

And here she was hearing the story on a drunken Thursday over fish and chips.

"The first was a locket that once belonged to Salazar Slytherin. A heavy gold heirloom with an emerald, serpentine '_S' _inlaid on it. The second was a shiny cup created by Helga Hufflepuff; it had a badger engraved on one side and was rumored to possess many magical powers."

He took a sip of the whisky before continuing. "Riddle murdered her, framed a house elf, and turned both artifacts into horcruxes." He said bluntly before a small chuckle escaped his lips. "He had a thing for the founding fathers." Gabrielle felt as though she was missing the joke but Harry didn't seem to notice.

"Anyways; the locket was discovered in a cave by Regulus Black who took it and entrusted its safe keeping to his house elf Kreacher at Grimmauld Place, it was eventually stolen and ended up in the hands of Umbridge, we acquired it from her, and Ron destroyed it with the sword of Godric Gryffindor, a sword we found at the bottom of a lake in the woods, placed there by the bastard Severus Snape."

He paused, giving her a moment to mentally digest what she was just told. The golden trio had never given much detail into how they killed Voldemort.

"Voldemort entrusted the cup to Bellatrix Lestrange, who kept it in her vault."

Now she understood. "You had to break into Gringotts."

"Yes." He said succinctly.

"Why was this never in the news?" She asked.

He shrugged. "The goblins didn't want to embarass themselves."

"A goblin by the name of Griphook agreed to help us in exchange for Gryfindor's sword." Harry picked back up as though she hadn't interrupted. " The filthy goblin double crossed us." He spat.

"The breakin involved me putting Travers and a few others under the imperius curse, me under my invisibility cloak, Hermione impersonating Bellatrix, and Ron in disguise. When that went to hell we improvised, ended up in her vault, found the cup, and escaped on a dragon. We made our way to Hogwarts and while I searched for the last horcrux Ron and Hermione made their way to the Chamber of Secrets, gaining entrance by hissing at the sink." He took a look at her, mistaking her astonishment for disbelief. "Yeah, I can't believe that worked either. Not a great security system if any old jackass can hiss at it and gain access. Anyways, they nicked a few basilisk fangs, and used them to destroy the cup. While I destroyed the Diadem and then Voldemort."

"Merlin."

"Yeah it was an intense day." Harry said lamely. "Anyways a few days later they held a trial with me in absentia where I was found guilty and sentenced to imprisonment as well as forfeiting the contents of my vaults. They've been unable to collect because they lack a sample of my blood, which they need to enter any of my vaults."

They sat silently for a while after that before she broke the silence. "Let's call it a night."

* * *

"Huh."

Harry's grunt drew her attention away from the St. Patrick's Day decorations being set up outside his shop and to Harry at his desk. "What is it?"

Instead of looking up he reached out with his arm, a piece of paper in his hand.

'_Margaret Monet, 18/08/2006 - Monaco'_

'_Jaleena Laine, 23/11/2006 - Rome'_

'_Harriet Meyers, 05/02/2006 - Dover'_

'_Claudette Sinclair, 14/05/2008 - Prague'_

The list of missing Veela continued before concluding with Marissa, Tara, and Sabrina. "What am I looking at?"

He looked up, giving her a look that said it should be obvious. "One of those disappearances is not like the others."

She read through the list two more times before she saw what Harry saw. "Harriet Meyers disappeared from Dover."

He beamed and she felt a sense of immense pride in having elicited such a look. "Why is that significant, Gabrielle." He whispered.

She couldn't quantify how she knew it was significant, just that it was.

'_Nice, Rome, Prague, Sarajevo, Budapest, Dover, Paris, Dublin.' _

"The others disappeared in larger cities. Dover doesn't fit."

"You're brilliant, you know that?" He said. "Harriet was also the first veela to go missing and she had no connection to Menton or Azzurra Wood."

"You think she was taken by somebody in the community?"

"It seems likely." He said. "Fancy a trip to Dover?"

The town of Dover, located in the southeast County of Kent, stood on the narrowest part of the English Channel facing France. A major port town with large green landscapes, Dover had a population of less than thirty five thousand, of which less than sixteen hundred were magical, and, at the time of her disappearance, Harriet Meyers had been the only veela in the entire town.

These are the facts Harry was peppering her with as she stared across the channel at France, allowing herself the briefest of moments to enjoy the view.

"Where do we start?" She asked him. Without breaking pace or looking at her he launched into his plan. "Harriet Meyers watched over the magical children in town who were too young to attend school; eighteen children at the time of her disappearance, to be exact. Of those eighteen, seventeen have parents that have solid alibis, the eighteenth Harriet sought a restraining order against, shortly after his wife took their daughter and left. We start there."

They made their way to an out of the way country cottage at the end of a long gravel road before following a narrow sidewalk to a large wooden door. Knocking twice they waited several moments before an attractive man with brown hair and matching eyes appeared.

"Harold Green?" Harry asked, wand in the man's chest, he took a step back involuntarily, Harry following him back into the cottage. "I want to talk to you about Harriet Meyers."

Rather than run, the man seemed to calm before noticing her for the first time. "Please, come in. Can I get either of you a drink?"

They declined before joining Green at his table.

Once they were situated, Harry moved quickly to bind the man to his chair before silencing him.

At her confusion, Harry explained. "Why play games when I have veritaserum?"

With a flick Harry forced the man's mouth open, placing three drops of the clear liquid onto Harold Green's tongue, his eyes glazing over in an instant.

"It is Tuesday March seventeenth two thousand and nine, Dover. Harry Potter and Gabrielle Delacour interrogating Harold Green."

She stood silently a few meters back, allowing her boyfriend the space he needed to work.

"Name?"

"Harold Green."

"And where are we?"

"Dover, Kent."

Finished with the control questions, Harry took a moment to compose himself.

"Why did your wife and daughter leave you?"

A gloom look overcame his handsome face. "I was having an affair."

"With who?"

"Madeline's teacher."

Harry glanced her way momentarily.

"What was her name?"

"Cassidy Lane."

Harry seemed as surprised as she did.

"Not Harriet Meyers?"

"No."

"But Harriet did have a restraining order against you, why?"

A large smile graced his face, drawing Gabrielle's attention to his perfect teeth, the man was exceptionally attractive.

"My sweet Harriet." Though his face was alive with expression, his voice remained monotonous under the effects of the veritaserum, making for a strange sight. "We had an unspoken bond. The games we'd play!"

She shivered. Why were the pretty ones always so dangerous?

"What happened to her?"

"I don't know."

Her heart sank, but Harry pressed on.

"But you watched her, yes?"

"Always."

"Who did she associate with?"

A livid expression came across Green's face at Harry's last question.

"The proprietor of the antique store made a few clumsy attempts at courting her when he opened up shop. She went out with him once, but came crawling back to me."

"Who else did she associate with, socially or otherwise?"

"The children, mostly. And their parents. And her assistant Cassidy. Harriet was so jealous of Cassidy and I."

"Who else?"

"Nobody." He said dully. "She spent her free time tending her garden."

Harry hit the man with a stupefy.

"What now?" She asked.

"We go to that shop."

She nodded and he pulled her close, holding her tightly for longer than necessary before the familiar squeeze of apparition deposited them several kilometers to the south in a dirty alley.

They made their way from the alley to the front of a rather large shop with several vases, ottomans, and other decorative pieces in the window. Gabrielle made to enter when the door flung open, nearly knocking her backwards.

"I am so sorry - Gabrielle!"

Reorienting herself, Gabrielle looked up into the slightly taller woman's big chocolate eyes. "Parvati! What a pleasant surprise!" Next to her Harry's eyes were on someone behind Parvati. "What brings you here?"

Seeing the small end table floating behind Parvati, Gabrielle put a pleasant smile on her face. "Harry and I had breakfast in Calais and decided to swing by Dover on our way back to London. I saw this shop and had to stop in."

Parvati nodded in understanding. "You're in luck. Lord Smith's collection is second to none."

"Parvati is too kind." A voice from behind Parvati chimed in.

"Hardly." Parvati replied. "Gabrielle, Harry, it was great seeing you again; lets catch up sometime?"

"Of course." She said. "Send me an owl next week."

"Do come in, Ambassador Delacour, Lord Potter." Zacharias Smith said cordially with a half smile that exposed a set of stained teeth.

"Thank you, Lord Smith." The man seemed to perk up at the use of the formal title. '_He's a newly annointed Lord.' _The title was supposed to go to his brother, if she remembered correctly, but he was deemed mentally unfit to serve after the death of his parents.

Beside her Harry's face was an emotionless mask. He squeezed her hand gently and she caught his eye.

'_Keep him talking.'_

"I'm looking for a daybed for our sunroom. Nothing gaudy, I prefer subtle beauty."

Smith's eyes lit up as he dragged her towards a rather lovely black and yellow floral print daybed with an intricate brass nailhead design that would look spectacular against the large bay windows in her home office.

Harry's hand no longer grasped her own, instead her boyfriend stayed several steps behind doing merlin knows what while she distracted an intriguing new suspect. What an unexpected aphrodisiac.

"It's absolutely lovely." She said honestly. "But I'm not sure it's worth the ten thousand galleons you've quoted me."

Smith smiled and entered a crouch as he pointed towards a small engraving of a badger near the base. "You see this? This is the house crest of the Hufflepuff family."

"_Tom Riddle killed Hepzibha Smith, framed the house elf." _ He'd then stolen Hepzibha's locket and cup.

"You're a descendant of Helga Hufflepuff, aren't you?" She said with a bit of forced admiration; she couldn't care less.

"I am…"

She waited patiently, nodding at all the right places, asking all the right follow up questions until she felt Harry's hand back in hers once more.

"I'll take it."

Lord Smith looked overjoyed by the fact that she had just purchased an irreplaceable family heirloom. "Fantastic! I'll start on the paperwork."

* * *

"Lady Malfoy?"

She looked up at the precious girl with a fond smile. "Yes Victoire."

A light breeze passed through the garden causing a loose strand of auburn hair to briefly obscure iris's of ice before the nine year old brushed it behind her ear absentmindedly.

"Mother says you graduated top of your class in charms and third in ancient runes."

Her smile grew. She had always wanted a daughter, though she knew the idea was far-fetched. With no male heirs carrying the Greengrass name and Daphne's condition it was on her to produce four males, a feat that seemed unlikely as a widow, before Astoria could consider a daughter.

Victoire was turning out to be an especially nice substitute. She would always be grateful to Bill and Fleur for allowing her access to their only child. "It takes a village." Fleur had told her. The humorous muggle colloquium seemed more wise than humorous in hindsight. Scorpius seemed to enjoy his play dates with Rose, and having strong male role models like Ron Weasley would be important as he developed.

"Second in arithmancy as well dear. If you're going to compliment someone, do it properly."

"Apologies, Lady Malfoy, I did not know."

"It's okay Victoire."

It was obnoxious of her to be so difficult with Victoire, she knew. But the child had shown a maturity and resolve beyond her years. The world was cruel and unforgiving. The sooner she learned how to navigate it the better. Gabby agreed.

"Have you ever considered continuing towards your mastery in warding?"

She was so caring, so inquisitive. The other children flocked to her at social gatherings, even the older ones.

"Many times. In fact your Aunt Gabrielle and your Uncle Harry were talking to me about it just last week."

She nodded her head as though Victoire had just heard something she had expected to hear. "Elder Monclair and Ambassador Delacour believe it's important to push yourself to your limits mentally." She paused and chewed her lip in a cute imitation of Gabrielle, "would you mind helping me with charms? Lord Potter - " she said with a slight smirk - "doesn't have time to tutor me and he's the only one I know who's qualified to teach me charms."

"What about your aunt Hermione?"

Victoire again imitated her aunt, this time her false smile. "I love my aunt Hermione. She encompasses everything I value in a person." Astoria had to hold back her laugh, mature as she was. Victoire couldn't keep the sarcastic tone from her voice, that would come with time. "But she's a bore as a teacher."

"Sure, love." Astoria said with a smile. "I'll find some time for lessons, twice a week?"

"Thank you, Lady Malfoy."

"Lady Malfoy, Lady Weasley." The elf interrupted. "A Lady Patil is in the atrium with something for the benefit."

"Thank you, Mips." She said politely. "Tell her we will be right there."

Astoria led the way through the garden and into the main house. "Which one do you think it is?" The young veela beside her inquired.

"Parvati. Padma would have been introduced as 'Ambassador.'" She put her hand on Victoire's shoulder and they both stopped. "And she's not a Lady, you know that, right?" The Patil's had no formal title, they weren't even British citizens. They paid almost no taxes yet enjoyed Britain's generous benefits. Parvati was a lecherous necessity.

"Of course, Lady Malfoy." Victoire said with polite confidence. "Ambassador Delacour encourages the use of flattery as a weapon."

"As long as you don't forget that."

When Astoria was a fifth year, the entire castle had gone to hell. Parvati was fencing blue to Tracey Davis. When the Carrows rounded the corner Prefect Patil loudly accused Tracey of breaking curfew and having contraband in order to save her own skin.

She would never forget the vacant, tear stained face that showed up at dinner the next night.

They passed through the large arching door frame into an impressively decorated waiting room. "Lady Patil!" She said with a smile, drawing the tall, slender woman's attention. "Lady Malfoy." Patil said with faux grace, her eyes lingering on Victoire. I wanted to stop by, I was recently in Aberlour when I came across this."

Astoria took the bottle, her eyes widening slightly. This would set off a bidding war between old man Corner and Lady Bones. Was there a more tense peace in the wizengamot?

"Macallan 1952 Campbell, Hope and King." She was impressed. "This will gather some serious attention, thank you."

She looked up and the Indian woman was staring at Victoire, a look of desire on her face. "Anything for hoggy, hoggy, Hogwarts." Parvati said with a smile, glancing at her briefly before returning her attention to Victoire.

"How's Fred?" She asked kindly as she squatted till her face was mere centimeters from Victoire's.

Victoire smiled. "He's great. They all are - "

"Victoire it's time to get you home."

The young girl looked flummoxed but nodded sagely. "Yes Lady Malfoy."

Astoria turned towards Patil with a thoughtful look on her face. "Thank you so much for the donation, Lady Patil. I look forward to seeing you next Tuesday."

Patil glanced longingly at Victoire for an uncomfortable moment before tearing her gaze away. "Of course. It's always a pleasure, Lady Malfoy."

They waited patiently for Patil to leave before calling out for her elf. "Mips!" She yelled, summoning the spry creature.

"Lady Malfoy." He said with a bow.

"Did you let Patil into the atrium?" She responded

"No madam. She had limited access to the wards."

'_How did she get that?' _She groaned. Parvati had floo'd to Scorpius's birthday party directly. '_Did we not update the wards?'_

With that in mind she rang Shell Cottage.

"Go ahead, Victoire." Astoria said when the face of Bill Weasley made itself known on the floo.

Victoire curtseyed politely. "Thank you for a lovely afternoon, Lady Malfoy." She said, holding her gaze. "I look forward to our charms lessons."

Victoire briefly greeted her dad before leaving them alone. "What's going on, Astoria?" He said.

"I was visited by Parvati Patil, the attention she paid to Victoire made me uncomfortable."

"What are you saying?" Bill asked, his scarred face contorting into a wolfish growl.

What was she saying? Did she know? "I don't know." Astoria settled for. "But Parvati has access to my atrium, and Malfoy Manor hasn't had its security fully updated in nearly twenty years. Could I hire you to redo it?"

"Of course, I'll come by tomorrow morning."

"Thank you." She said sincerely before cutting the line short.

"Mips!" She called out. "White wine, please."

The attention Patil paid Victoire was unsettling. '_She spends lots of time with Lord Smith.' _Zacharias may be a Lord but that didn't excuse his deviancy. Or the suspicious circumstances surrounding his parents death and his brother's insanity.

She set her glass down and made her way to her fireplace.

A pretty young veela answered for Gabrielle. "Ambassador Delacour's office."

"Hello Margaret, is Ambassador Delacour in?" The dark haired veela shook her head. "ICW preparation all week. Can I take a message?"

She debated not saying anything but decided this couldn't wait. "Tell her something strange happened with Victoire at the Manor today. Nothing bad, perse, just strange."

Margaret nodded. "Anything else?"

She thought for a moment. "No, that is all, thank you."

* * *

The chatter of the crowded restaurant didn't reach their ears as he listened to Ron describe his first session of the wizengamot from behind a privacy dome. "The bastard did it on purpose mate, he doesn't trust me. He just wants Draco's leftovers."

"Hey!" He said halfheartedly. "Astoria has been good to you and your family, lets treat her with a bit of respect."

"You're only trying to preserve the possibility of a threesome."

He smiled, lost in thought for a moment. "That may be - " he said before taking a sip of water. "But you're probably right. What did Hermione have to say?"

"We'll find out."

"Oof."

"I know."

They both paused for a few minutes to eat.

"It's a hell of a lot of work, mate." Was Ron's way of breaking the silence. "And I only _really _care about three or so issues. Hardly enough for me to be dedicating so much time to this!" Ron whined. "And I can't even use my knowledge to help my business!" He said bitterly. "What's the point!"

It baffled Harry that Ron seemed so unprepared for the entire situation.

"It's not as though I give a damn about cauldron thickness, or griffin races for merlin's sake!" Ron smirked. "How'd those go over, by the way?"

"Better than they did with Hermione." She'd taken umbrage with the way the griffins were treated and wouldn't let anyone enjoy the spectacle. "Gabby won around a hundred."

"Not bad." Ron said. "How's that goin?"

Harry smiled. "Really well."

"And she's taken custody of that recovered veela?"

"Yep." He said, checking his watch. "I'm finally getting to check the girl after this."

"What do you hope to find?"

"I don't know."

'_16:12' _He was late. Gabrielle hated it when he was late, he thought to himself as he approached the end of the hallway and turned left.

The windowless room was painted in muted pastels, a dusky pink and a soft turquoise with soothing pictures of landscapes decorating the walls. In the far corner sat a small wardrobe, in another corner, a desk with paper and colored pencils scattered about. In the farthest corner facing the door sat a small bed. He was sitting on a conjured leather chair across from Gabrielle, Tara, and the mind healer.

"Are you sure you're ready for this, Tara?" Gabrielle asked.

The girl with pale white skin and eyes the shade of grass bore her fingernails into Gabby's arm, but nodded in affirmation. This is something she had to do.

The procedure itself was simple enough. A potion to sedate the girl then a minor ritual to place them inside Tara's mind.

Tara downed the vial, falling unconscious several seconds later. "Grab my hands and place your free hand on the girl."

They did so, waiting patiently for further instructions.

"Close your eyes."

The mind healer said something in latin and a bright blue light burned his corneas through his eyelids.

"Open your eyes."

He did so, specks of blue filling his peripheral vision as he adjusted to the new reality. The trio found themselves surrounded by darkness, mirrors of their physical selves drifting in Tara's mind.

"Where would you like to go, Lord Potter?" The mind healer inquired, his voice raspy and awkward.

"Point of sale."

A moment later they found themselves in a small room with a two way mirror off on one wall.

"_It's going to be okay, mon cheri." _

He glanced at Gabrielle and saw a bit of hope; Marissa had been alive, at this point. It would appear as though they were initially sold together.

Outside the door Harry could hear three voices.

"_I could care less about the girl. Twelve thousand galleons and she's yours." _

"_Deal!" _An excited, familiar voice cried. "Aderfi." He whispered to Gabrielle who nodded numbly.

"Is that allowed?" The first voice said as the trio walked in the room.

He felt nauseous as the familiar third voice entered last. "As long as the club is paid in full we don't care what you do with your property."

"Parvati." Gabrielle whispered in disbelief from next to him.

They pulled out of the memory a few seconds later.

"_...no, Parvati. She's had extra galleons lately. " _

Miles had tried to tell him months ago and he hadn't listened. She had misled him on Oliver, insinuating he had received help from Malfoy.

This was on him. He had missed the obvious based on personal history, as loose a history as that may have been.

The Monkey's Paw had found a blindspot and exploited it. They had been ahead of him the entire time.

"Mate." He said drawing the mind healer's attention. "Do you have the team?"

The mind healer nodded dutifully. "16:36."

He nodded, more to himself than anyone else.

"Obliviate." He muttered. Hitting the mind healer in the chest and altering the last twenty four minutes of his life. "You determined Tara is too psychologically damaged to be examined at this time. We argued, you told us to check back in two weeks."

"Indeed. I did." The mind healer nodded obediently.

At Gabby's inquisitive look he kissed her gently and smiled. "She's no longer ahead of us."

* * *

**A/N: **I really like this chapter. I'm not sure why.


	11. Chapter 11

**Disclaimer: **I own nothing.

**A/N: **"Victoire" is pronounced "Veek-twaar," or, if you're an American with shit linguistic skills "Vick, TW-AH."

* * *

_A pretty, young veela answered for Gabrielle. "Ambassador Delacour's office."_

"_Hello Margaret, is Ambassador Delacour in?" The dark haired veela shook her head. "ICW preparation all week. Can I take a message?"_

_She debated not saying anything but decided this couldn't wait. "Tell her something strange happened with Victoire at the Manor today. Nothing bad, perse, just strange." _

_Margaret nodded. "Anything else?"_

_She thought for a moment. "No, that is all, thank you."_

* * *

Astoria felt a pulse of magic collide with the back of her head the moment she withdrew from the floo.

She stumbled out of the way of her opponents follow up as she emptied the contents of her lunch onto her Persian rug.

Her ears rang and her vision blurred, the result of her opponent's concussion hex leaving her vulnerable in the large, open space. She felt nauseous as she stumbled about the room.

"_Do you know why we keep our wand in our sleeve?" Astoria shook her head, a naive look on her young features as a pair of birds sang joyfully off in the distance._

"_There are people in this world who will want to do us harm because of the choices our parents made. Should you fall under attack, it is necessary to have quick access to your wand - "_

"_But Draco -" She interrupted. She had only been a child. She hadn't known. "-the war is over! Who are we fighting?" _

_He smiled grimly, the summer sun reflecting off his pale skin. "These people will always judge us for who our families are, not who we will become, we will never be given the benefit of the doubt. Keep your wand in your sleeve. Now let's practice drawing it under duress…"_

Astoria flicked her wrist, her ash wand landing gracefully in her petite right hand before tapping her head lightly; the disorientation from the concussion clearing immediately. The maneuver was a temporary fix, it wouldn't last long, her healer would need to be summoned, but it would do in a pinch.

Symptom free, Astoria saw a look of boredom in Parvati Patil's eyes as she stood across from her motionlessly, she could attack but chose not to. _'How did she get in here?' _Patil couldn't have used the floo, the fireplace had been in use at the time of the incursion. It alarmed her that the woman across from her had floo access and, apparently, had created a hole in her wards. Who knew what else she had access to? Could she get to Scorpius?

"_What spell will you use?" _

"_When?" She inquired annoyingly, as though she had forgotten what they had been talking about. Still, Draco smiled. "When you fall under attack, what spell will you use to neutralize your opponent?"_

_She thought for a moment. "Stupefy?" The answer hung like a question in the summer air. _

_Her fiancé smiled patiently. "A good spell, but your average fourth year can defend against it, think more advanced."_

_She furrowed her brow in thought. "A cutter." She said, this time more assuredly. A cutter would provide her an opportunity to injure her opponent, leaving him susceptible to a follow up, increasing her odds of success. _

_Draco smiled softly but she knew he wanted more from her. A cutter was a good, hearty spell; what was wrong with that?_

_Astoria thought for a long moment; a cutter would work against another sixth year, but an attacker would likely be more advanced. "But that's not much better than a stupefy." Astoria said to herself. "Bother." She said, defeated. _

"_Let me show you a spell my godfather created." He paused for a second, a grim smile on his handsome face. "Potter nearly killed me with it two years ago, matter of fact…"_

"Sectumsempra!" She shouted three times in unison, scattering the aim of the curse in an attempt to prevent the taller woman from dodging.

White light filled the room as Patil conjured a slab of granite in front of Severus Snape's severing curse, leaving the air full of dust and debris, and Astoria momentarily stunned at the unexpected outcome, giving Patil a chance to return fire. "Avada kedavra!" Her opponent bellowed, a bit of mischief underlying the older woman's tone.

Astoria's eyes widened, the stakes of the situation hitting her like a bludgeoner. "Accio lamp!" She cried in desperation, summoning the object into the path of the killing curse.

Keeping her eyes on the hips of her opponent, Astoria crossed her left foot over her right and crouched as she took several steps to the right, firing as she did so. "Sectumsempra! Percuro! Sectumsempra!" She said quietly with a few efficient flicks of her wand.

Patil danced out of the way of her onslaught before countering with several more killing curses of her own.

Astoria clumsily ducked and stepped back, extending her life a few moments longer, allowing her a moment to square her shoulders. "Sectumsempra!" She shouted.

The white light found its mark, slashing Patil in the chest like an invisible sword, sending dark blood across Italian marble.

"Crucio!" Patil growled through gritted teeth, a crazed glint in her eye, unconcerned about the vicious wound on her chest.

Surprised once more, Astoria didn't have time to dodge before the unforgivable connected with her shoulder, causing her to howl as the spell set fire to her nervous system and pain receptors.

She felt her voice crack as she screamed in agony, she coughed painfully as darkness creeped into her vision. She couldn't hold on much longer and Astoria found herself wondering if this was the last thing Frank and Alice Longbottom experienced before they broke.

A bright light filled her periphery and for a moment she was at peace.

Then she fell into the darkness.

* * *

She arrived at Malfoy Manor to a horror show, her friend coughing and twitching violently on the floor as Parvati Patil, bleeding from a wound on her chest, held the cruciatus curse on Astoria, humming softly as she observed her work with interest. In her revelry, Parvati failed to recognize Gabrielle's presence.

Silently she hit Parvati with a bludgeoner to her already injured abdomen, causing her to drop her wand as she coughed blood, noticing Gabrielle for the first time.

Gabrielle followed it up with a pair of killing curses, aiming for the woman's chest.

Brown eyes wide as saucers, Parvati sprinted towards the floo and away from danger, grabbing a handful of floo powder she mumbled softly, disappearing into the green flames.

Turning towards Astoria, Gabrielle's eyes widened desperately at the sight of her friend in agony.

Another flick of her wrist put Astoria into a state of stasis, a third gently summoned her friend to her, while a fourth summoned Parvati's wand.

Grabbing a handful of floo powder Gabrielle cradled Astoria gently. "Zekanot - Medical Center; Severe Trauma!"

**1111**

She walked back into the private ward with her shoulders slumped. "Lord Greengrass is retrieving Scorpius from my sisters then coming here with their own healer." She started, answering Harry's unasked question.

"What's her prognosis?" Harry said, gesturing towards the still form of Astoria.

Astoria was in bad shape. Had she been a muggle she would have permanent severe damage to her nervous system.

"She'll recover in short order. The healers are hopeful she'll be on her feet in the next several days."

"Do you think he'll try and move her?" Harry said, switching the subject back to Lord Greengrass. Gabrielle shook her head. "They cannot. I have power of attorney over her." Sensing she had more to say Harry didn't respond. "How did we miss it, Harry?"

A troubled look came over his face before he slumped in defeat. "I underestimated her." He said quietly, staring off into the beige wall. "Until the very moment we identified her as a suspect Parvati Patil was the fourteen year old girl who worshipped Professor Trelwaney and found herbology and potions particularly disgusting."

"You should have seen her, Harry." Gabrielle said with a bit of hysteria. "The way she cocked her head to the side in interest as Astoria screamed and twitched, the way she tapped her fingers on her thigh and hummed a tune as she held the curse. She was fascinated by Astoria's pain." By the time she finished there were tears running down her face and she felt an involuntary tremble course through her.

Harry noticed and in an instant he was across the room and engulfing her in a hug. "I'm sorry you had to see that."

She clamped down on her occlumency. "It's okay." She said honestly as she gently pushed away. If she hadn't seen it then Astoria would be beyond repair.

Harry sat back down on his conjured leather chair before she made herself comfortable in his lap where they fell into a comfortable silence.

Her grip on his thigh tightened, causing Harry to turn to her. "What is it?"

"Aiden. Victoire and I ran into him at Fortescue's right before the Parkinson… thing." Harry nodded patiently, allowing her a second to come to grips with it all.

She flipped around in Harry's lap till she was straddling him. "You're not the only one who fucked up…though you may have fucked up twice."

A quizzical look overcame him. "What?"

"What group is skilled enough to nearly kill you?"

He thought for a second. "None, not really. Except for maybe the Warlock's."

A dawn of recognition came across his face but she wouldn't let him steal her glory. "While we were grabbing ice cream Aiden bragged about dating Parvati Patil."

"Shite." He said, turning from her in disgust.

"Aiden has the skill to coordinate an attack like that." He strayed off towards the end. She waited patiently for him to continue. "He's familiar with my shop and he knows how I conduct an investigation." If he was surprised by the betrayal he didn't show it.

The Cheshire grin looked unnatural on his face. "None of the suspects had, or have, the resources to run an operation like this." She waited patiently, waiting for him to make his point. "But Lord Smith does."

"Lord Smith?"

"Yes."

"How does he fit in?"

Harry grinned. Neither Aiden, Pansy, Crabbe, Goyle, Oliver, nor Flint have the individual wealth to fund something like this. Smith recently took control of the fourth largest fortune in Europe. He's smart, he has a history of sexual misconduct, and he's a close friend of Parvati's."

"That's speculative. For all you know they're sleeping together."

"She's too old for him, and I'm not an auror."

Gabrielle rolled her eyes.

Harry sighed. "His past, his connection to Harriet Meyers, his connection to Parvati, and the fact that that shop was hiding several rooms give me reasonable cause."

"In your mind, maybe." She couldn't officially support an illegal search. "But unless you have concrete proof, I cannot support you doing anything that would risk Veela's standing with the ICW and our reputation with the international community, do you understand?"

He smiled coyly. "I understand."

* * *

Beady forest green eyes watched the mother and daughter walk hand in hand down Regent Street. She followed behind, her sunflower yellow dress billowing in the wind, her new wand concealed on her right forearm.

She felt awkward and uncomfortable in her foreign body, Parvati always did when under the effects of polyjuice potion.

She watched from across the street as Victoire and Fleur Weasley took an outside table at a cute corner cafe.

Once they were seated, Parvati took a swig from her flask before following suit, her table just outside of earshot of the happy duo.

She observed with a bit of jealousy as Fleur dotted on her daughter after a long morning of shopping, and before a relaxing afternoon at the spa. It was the kind of attention that she used to dream of late at night in her dorm. She appreciated her fathers, but a girl needed a mother.

Fleur Weasley was a bit of a disappointment as an intellectual. Parvati would never say so publicly, it would be uncouth. But if she were being honest with herself Parvati would say the former champion from Beauxbatons was a disappointment, at least professionally and socially, as an adult. Regardless of what she thought of Gabrielle as a person, Parvati didn't doubt the woman's drive, even if she couldn't explain her confounding effectiveness.

Fleur, on the other hand, abandoned her professional dreams to raise her daughter. While she may have expected more from the Triwizard Champion, she respected her abilities as a parent. Raising the perfect daughter was like creating a diamond, after all.

"Can I get you anything, ma'am." A squeaky voice said, disturbing Parvati from her thoughts.

"A house salad and water with lemon for me, please." She said with a smile, her gaze drifting back towards her fascination.

She didn't feel a hint of aura from either of them. It was another thing she admired about Fleur's parenting skills, she had instilled impeccable manners in Victoire. Most veela her age would have little to no control over the effect they had on their surroundings, Victoire was exceptional.

She was so much like Padma. She wondered what Fleur would say if Victoire wasn't so smart, so charming, so perfect? Would they abandon her in her time of need? No. The Weasley's were a loving family, always had been, even before they found wealth.

For the first time she focused all of her attention on Fleur. The creases on her cheeks from excessive smiling. The way she patiently corrected her daughter as she grabbed the wrong fork for her salad. The way she leaned in to every one of her nine year olds insignificant words as though they were some grand secret meant only for her. Fleur would never abandon Victoire. Her maternal instinct was too strong. Had she had a mother like Fleur would she have been different?

**11111**

She tapped her foot impatiently. Victoire and her father were supposed to arrive at Malfoy Manor ten minutes ago, instead they hadn't left the annual daddy-daughter brunch thrown by the Diagon Athletic Club just yet.

Unlike Fleur, Bill Weasley was endlessly ambitious. A Gringotts Preferred Partner despite his relationship with Harry. His curse breaking firm reported record profits in two thousand and seven. And if you had told her a year ago that a Weasley would be elected to the Wizengamot, she would assume you had meant Bill, not Ron.

The eldest Weasley brother was strong, handsome, brave, and noble. Between him, his brothers, and Harry, Victoire had some of the generation's most honorable male role models interacting with her on a daily basis. She doubted any of them would use Victoire.

She didn't know much about Bill as a parent other than he was generous with his daughter's time. Gabrielle had told her that Bill wanted his daughter to learn from, and interact with, as many people as possible. So much so that he and Fleur had arranged for their daughter to spend two afternoons a week at Malfoy Manor, of all places.

The two appeared hand in hand a few minutes later, large smiles across both of their faces.

Parvati couldn't help but notice how handsome Bill Weasley was. She hadn't known him prior to the war and couldn't recall him without the scars given to him by Fenrir Greyback, but she found it hard to imagine him looking any better than he did now with his daughter.

She felt her phone vibrate in her clutch and sighed. Smith needed her and she wasn't supposed to be here.

Parvati took one last look at Victoire, promising to check in on her later before making her way to the floo.

**1111**

Hardened blue eyes watched as mother and daughter, in matching cashmere pea coats, chatted animatedly as they walked the streets of muggle London.

Absentmindedly Parvati rubbed her abdomen, still sore from Gabrielle's attack two days prior. She had been foolish, reckless even. She never should have gone to Malfoy Manor. She was unraveling.

Her mistakes had already blown her cover. She had to go back to Malfoy Manor. She had to utilize the hole in the wards before Astoria had a chance to air her suspicions.

Obviously, she had been too late.

The Veela had been eerily silent in the past few days with Gabrielle and Elder Monclair holed up with the Zekanot, she assumed Gabrielle would wait for their hearing at the ICW to ask for the warrant.

She closed the gap between Fleur and Victoire, speeding up in order to get within striking distance, just to see if she could.

"...Uncle Harry says the cutter is the basis of any basic self-defense." Victoire's high-pitched voice was music to her ears.

From the corner of her eye she could see Fleur smile softly. "Your Uncle Harry has had some…" Fleur paused and for a moment Parvati felt a kinship with the woman, knowing exactly what she was going to say to her daughter; "...unique life experiences. Maybe ask your great aunt Annette, she was a dueling champion in her youth."

"Elder Monclair was a dueling champion?"

"She was."

Parvati smiled, tearing herself away from the conversation before she got reckless again and focused on the path ahead.

* * *

Gabrielle applauded politely as Krum finished addressing the Confederation before she locked eyes with Ambassador Beaucourt as she took the podium.

"Thank you ladies and gentlemen of the Confederation. France would like to cede their allotment to the representative from Britain."

She just kept the smile from her face. Gabrielle loved when a plan came together.

From next to her Ambassador Corner patted her thigh gently before treating her to a handsome smile and a wink. As he made his way to the dais Gabrielle found her mind drifting to the man's predecessor. Marcus Flint hadn't been seen in several days, nor had he reached out to Oliver Wood for more information.

"Thank you Ambassador Beaucourt." Corner said graciously. The man had a natural gravitas. "The men and women of Britain would like to cede both Britain and France's allotments to Ambassador Delacour, and the Veela."

Whispers erupted around the room, some of them angry. She paid them no mind as she walked to the dais. This was her moment to show the strength of her species.

"Thank you Ambassador Beacourt." She said, curtseying politely to Fleur's old friend from school as she did so. "Thank you Ambassador Corner."

She took a calming breath, choosing a spot on the back wall to focus on till she found her nerve. "Though we like to pretend otherwise, being a Veela means coming to terms with certain realities at a young age." She felt her voice tremble briefly before her occlumency settled her. "It means young mothers are left with the heartbreaking reality of raising their daughters in a world that views them as an intellectually inferior object rather than an equal to be treated with respect and dignity."

She took a pause to take a sip of water and gauge the reaction of the silent assembly.

"It wasn't until nineteen fifty six that this Confederation outlawed Veela ownership, prior to that a Veela had the same value as a rat, in the Confederation's eyes. It took another forty years for this Confederation to recognize us as intellectual beings."

She felt at ease as she paused again, allowing her shoulders to slump and her face to sag. "More Veela have been killed or gone missing in the last one hundred years than there are left living on earth." The misery in her voice wasn't forced. "We are an endangered species."

She let the statement saturate in the air for a long moment. She needed them to understand the gravity of the situation.

"In the last two years alone twenty five veela have been abducted by an international criminal organization that goes by the name 'Monkey's Paw.'" She had their interest, some seemed uncomfortable, she noted them mentally. "They specialize in trafficking Veela and other _creatures_ through high-end auctions across Britain and the continent."

The room was eerily silent. Gabrielle smiled endearingly. "A few weeks ago an investigator employed by the Zekanot successfully recovered this terrorist organizations youngest victim, an eight year who had been abducted while out with her mother. We are happy to report that under the watchful eyes of an ICW Recognized team of mind healers the girl has been able to make meaningful progress towards a full recovery."

The applause was more enthusiastic than she had hoped for and Gabrielle smiled. "Three days ago that team of ICW Recognized experts gave the go ahead to allow myself, Elder Monclair, our investigator, and the Director of Cognitive Healing at the Zurich Academy of Medicine, Lead ICW Recognized expert for the Mind Arts, Lord Roger Crow, to review the victims ordeal, through her eyes." It was important that Gabrielle continuously reiterated that these were healers that may have been paid by the Zekanot, but were certified by the men and women in this room as being the leaders in their professions.

"What we saw was Parvati Patil, Indian expat in London, abuse, threaten, and facilitate the sale of victim twenty four and her mother, victim twenty three to an unidentified white male, who then sold victim twenty four to a Berber expat in France, one Aderfi Abrika, who kept her chained to a wall in a room in his home in Nice, where he sexually abused victim twenty four for ninety two straight days before being rescued." She left out the brutal murder perpetrated by Tara that took place immediately after the rescue.

She raised her voice over the objections from Ambassadors Mahir and Padma Patil. "Lord Crow has submitted the certified memory as evidence. You will all receive a copy of this, and all other evidence in the casefile within the hour." The unusual proclamation silenced the _august _body.

"Two days ago." She started. Gabrielle had them. "Lady Astoria Malfoy was attacked and nearly tortured into insanity immediately following a social engagement with my nine year old niece. When Lady Malfoy dropped off my niece she left a message for my office regarding something unusual in an interaction she had just had with Parvati Patil."

She paused, allowing the assembly to wonder what happened next before continuing. She had been especially proud of her ability to keep the entire ordeal out of the news. "When I arrived at Malfoy Manor I saw a bleeding Parvati Patil humming calmly as she tortured Lady Astoria Malfoy to the brink of insanity. In the ensuing scramble she dropped this wand." Gabrielle placed Parvati's wand on a table she had conjured. "The memory and wand diagnostics and certificate of purchase from Ollivanders in Diagon Alley will be included in the evidence documents."

She waited for the crowd to quiet before she made her calm demand. "Together we can take the first steps in preventing the complete eradication of my people. The Zekanot demands an arrest warrant for Parvati Sravya Patil on multiple counts of forty seven separate offenses, the most serious being the murders of seventeen different individuals including Pansy Parkinson, Vincent Crabbe, and Gregory Goyle."

The chamber eroded to shambles around her, but she didn't mind. Every news outlet in the world would report on her speech.

"Thank you for your time."

* * *

He disabled the basic security surrounding Smith's shop with ease; either Smith was an idiot or he didn't think he'd be found out. Harry's galleons were on the later. A town the size of Dover with such a minute magical population hardly required Gringotts finest.

Stepping into the larger-on-the-inside shop, Harry cast a couple of quick diagnostic charms to ensure his privacy, disorienting several monitoring charms to avoid built in disable alerts, he removed his invisibility cloak and stepped into the shop.

Smith's collection consisted of magical and muggle artefacts alike, dating as far back as the Ming Dynasty and founding of Hogwarts right up to more recent pieces from the late twentieth century.

He stuck to the right of the room, stopping at a still portrait of a father and son fishing, examining the painting with a more discerning eye.

The picture was hiding a room, one that, unlike the entrance to the store, had significant protections.

A few waves of his wand identified the structure, giving him a frame of reference for the arithmetic makeup of the wards, helping Harry identify deficiencies in the overall structure.

Harry smiled as he found a weakness in the schema running along the base of the ward scheme.

He took an extra moment to focus himself before beginning the delicate procedure, a lack of focus could lead to a mistake, and Harry did not want to see what sort of failsafe's Smith had put into protecting the room.

Exhaling slowly; he pushed a bit of raw energy through his wand, past several thick tendrils of magic, each one a separate failsafe meant to do merlin-knows what should he come in contact with them. Stopping at a nearly imperceptible point five millimeter tendril, Harry smiled as he severed the thing with ease.

The protections disabled, Harry removed the portrait, revealing a small, square door with a plain iron handle.

He smiled ruefully at what he saw when he opened the door. It wasn't every day he was wrong.

A flick sent one of Hermione's 'bluebell flames' floating in front of him as he descended the narrow staircase into a wide, stone passage with no natural light descending into the darkness.

He moved carefully, casting diagnostics along the way, wary of what he might find. Smith's protection of the door had been well layered and professionally cast.

Harry weaved in and out finding no resistance except for an unfamiliar ringing in his ears that he couldn't trace.

He occluded, pushing the pain from his mind temporarily, only for occlumency to fail him three steps later.

Each step brought a new hell as he began to ascend.

Blood dripping from his ears came with step five.

On step eight he tasted the blood beginning to pool in his mouth.

The only way to end the suffering was to make it to the end.

Step fifteen had blood pouring from his nose.

Steps twenty through twenty four saw blood oozing out of his pores as he became increasingly lightheaded from the loss of blood.

He was going to bleed out. He thought on step twenty six, blood flowing from his eye sockets and down his cheeks.

The pain stopped on step thirty two. He hadn't even registered walking through another door.

"Stupefy." A far-off, lazy voice said.

Harry didn't have the time or strength to dodge.

* * *

She watched lovingly as Victoire marched confidently up to the coffee stand.

"Two espressos and two croissants, one ham and cheese the other chocolate hazelnut please." The barista smiled and handed Victoire her change, a devious look on the little girls face. Fleur had approved strawberries and cream, not chocolate hazelnut.

Parvati found that she didn't mind waiting on Aiden's signal, she was enjoying this special moment between a mother and her daughter. Bill and Fleur, she had come to realize, could not possibly live without Victoire in their lives.

Fleur gave her only child an unconvincing scold, one which Victoire took with a grain of salt before moving them along.

Parvati took a leisurely right to keep pace, briefly losing sight of the pair. She would catch up to them at the next corner.

**1111**

Gabrielle descended the wide marble steps flanked on either side by her mother and Annette. Apolline's decision to attend her speech at the ICW had been a surprise, though perhaps it shouldn't have been, her mother had never been shy of the media.

A hand on her shoulder stopped Gabrielle in her tracks. "I'm so proud of you, Gabrielle."

She smiled as her mentor hugged her for a long moment.

"Best to move, Elder Monclair, Ambassador." A burly man with a South African accent said, shooing them along. It was necessary to stay moving in these situations.

Bruno and his men separated the three veela from the media surrounding the unexpected events at the normally tedious Confederation meetings.

Despite the objections from the Indian delegation, her request had been passed with an overwhelming majority, over two thirds of the delegation, in fact.

Had it been a vote for full membership they would have passed.

She could feel Annette's love by way of her aura. When Gabrielle mimicked, Annette spoke.

"I filed the paperwork last week."

She nearly stopped again.

"You think I'm ready?"

"I do. And so does the Zekanot, the support was near unanimous. Besides, the position has been empty long enough. The approvals have been given, as of this morning Gabrielle Apolline Delacour is the ninety second Premier of the Zekanot. The youngest in recorded history as well, I might add." The look of pride on Annette's face would fuel her next patronus.

"Thank you." She was speechless.

"You've earned it, Premier Delacour."

The chatter among their security picked up, causing her to instinctively finger her wand in its holster on her wrist.

"Elder Monclair, Premier Delacour, Lady Delcaour, come with me."

"What's going on?" She desperately hoped they were mistaken.

"We aren't sure."

"Wands out, ladies."

Gabrielle followed the former dueling champions lead but made sure to keep her mind straight, a battle was different than a duel. Harry had quite literally beat that into her in their training.

Gabrielle allowed her gaze to wander her surroundings, top to bottom slowly, looking for... something.

Her eyes paused on a gentleman in a bowl cap. She'd recognize the man behind those sunglasses anywhere.

She felt a shiver work its way down her spine as reality set in.

"_If you're in a situation where you know you're going to be attacked, take the first shot. Catching them by surprise is the best way to win a fight against a stronger opponent."_

She had a clear shot.

Gabrielle didn't hesitate. "Avada kedavra." She whispered, aiming the killing curse directly at Aiden's chest.

With what had to be magically enhanced agility, Aiden dodged her spell with grace, while the street erupted in flames.

**1111**

Parvati worked herself to within earshot of Victoire, then maintained that distance while she waited for the signal.

"What happened to strawberries and cream, mon chéri?" The mother asked the daughter as she tried her best to chide the precious child.

"Two hours of ballet." Victoire maintained a rigorous regimen. She was prodigious in ballet, both as a dancer and as a budding choreographer. "Besides - "Victoire said innocently before her voice fell to a conspiratorial whisper, "-the strawberries didn't appear to be ripe."

Fleur laughed and Victoire appeared vindicated.

"How do you think Aunt Gabby's speech went?" Victoire blurted, changing the subject without thought.

Parvati felt the single vibration in her pocket, the signal from Aiden, but ignored it for the moment, curious as to Fleur's response. "My sister is the kindest, smartest, most beautiful Veela in the world. How do you think she did?"

"She killed it."

"She killed it." Fleur repeated back, ruffling the sweaty hair of Victoire. "Now I'm going to pretend you didn't just eat a crepe with chocolate hazelnut spread and let you have cake and ice cream at Gabby's surprise party."

"Surprise party!" The gleeful delight was music to Parvati's ears. "Why didn't you tell me?!"

"Because you can't keep a secret!"

Parvati had her wand in her hand with a clear shot but hesitated. She couldn't kill Fleur, Victoire would never forgive her.

The stupefy hit her target square in the breasts, dropping Fleur to the street before the older woman had time to react.

"Expelliarmus!" An eerily calm, childlike voice called from waist height.

The unexpected spell from Victoire caught her off guard, and to her amusement, the wonderful child stood there smugly with her new wand pointed directly back at her.

"Stupefy!" Victoire yelled.

Much to her surprise, a weak stunner came barreling down upon her.

Parvati dodged with delight, but knew she had to end this, auror's were closing in, she could see them pushing their way through the crowd.

She took a step towards Victoire only to come under spell fire from the encroaching auror's.

She looked longingly at Victoire before sighing heavily. Parvati wasn't willing to risk it all. Not today. Spinning on her heel, she disappeared with a soft pop.

**1111**

"This way!" Her security demanded frantically, shoving the three veela down a side street.

"Where are we going?" Her mother whined. Silently Gabrielle echoed her mother's sentiment as she observed the alley they turned down; narrow and unyielding, the only way out being back from where they came.

It didn't seem right. Why would they direct them this way? She glanced at the man.

"How long have you and Roger been working together?" She asked as they walked slowly down the alley.

"Three years. Quiet."

"Avada kedavra!" she yelled. Hitting the imposter square in the chest and ending his life a moment later.

"Gabrielle!" Her mother yelled in horror.

She should be thanking her.

"There is no Roger on the security detail. We were led into a trap."

Ignoring her mother's follow up, Gabrielle turned to Annette. "This alley has no exit points."

"Hominem revelio." She muttered. Gabrielle's eyes widened. "Three people coming this way!"

Annette nodded. "This way."

The words were barely out of her mouth before a jet of emerald green struck her mother, sending her lifeless body to the ground.

Gabrielle reacted on instinct, transfiguring rubbage into a concrete wall.

While she shielded, Annette attacked sending jets of flame towards their two opponents.

One man took care of the flames while the other continued to set the pace offensively.

Where was the third attacker? The charm had said three.

Several curses decimated her wall. "Sectumsempra!" She whispered several times.

Her curses were batted away with ease. "Annette, how are you holding up?" She asked frantically, her eyes searching for a way out. They needed help or they wouldn't survive another ninety seconds.

"Fine dear! Don't you worry about me!" As if to prove her point, Annette sent a half dozen cutters at the nearest attacker, drawing blood from his left thigh and abdomen, but at a cost as the unseen third attacker severed Elder Monclair's right leg at the knee, sending her to the ground howling in pain.

She took a deep breath in an attempt to block out the emotion rising in her chest, she couldn't allow herself to give in to emotion or they were all dead.

"_If you find yourself in an unwinnable situation, your goal becomes to stay alive as long as possible. Do whatever it takes."_

Gabrielle transfigured Annette's severed leg into an iron barricade surrounding them. "Hominem revelio." She whispered again, hoping help was on the way.

It wasn't.

She felt her barricade was beginning to collapse under the weight of the attack.

Off to her left, Annette grimaced in pain as she conjured herself a temporary limb and got to her feet.

Gabrielle's eyes fell on her great aunt's stomach. "You're bleeding." She said numbly. This couldn't be happening. How did this happen?

"Yes, dear." Annette wheezed. "Would you mind?"

Gabrielle cleaned and closed the wound, only for it to open up at first movement. "Dark magic." Annette mumbled. "Do you have a blood replenisher, Gabrielle?"

She shook her head in disbelief. Unwilling to accept what was happening.

"_The second you give up mentally, you're dead." _

"Fuck it." She mumbled, pointing her wand towards the sky. The media would have a field day if she survived. "Morsmordre!"

Green smoke filled the air as an enchanted snake danced through the orifices of an emerald skull.

Off in the distance she could hear screams of terror as Voldemort's infamous mark filled European skies for the second time in six months.

Her barricade collapsed and Gabrielle was forced to dodge again.

From next to her Annette's movements were limited, but her wand was sharp. "Avada kedavra!" She managed through labored breathing.

Pure hatred erupted from her wand, connecting with one attacker, but once again left her open to a secondary attack.

Gabrielle's focus shifted from her fight to Annette's as an emerald green curse connected with her bleeding stomach, ending her life in an instant; cheating the incredible Veela of the glorious death she deserved.

She didn't feel the first few spells as they connected with her, exposing her innards to the spring air and setting her organs a blaze.

She did notice her lungs filling with blood, slowly drowning her.

Around her chaos loomed as multiple spells flew over her dying body.

Help had arrived, but far too late. Through her blurred vision she noticed a long shadow approaching her. Gabrielle forced herself to stay conscious, eager to greet death as an old friend.

"It's okay." Death was a woman with pink hair and a worried look on her face. "You're safe now."

Gabrielle felt words beginning to form in the back of her throat, but she couldn't get them out, nor could she fight the obvious. Shutting her eyes, Gabrielle succumbed to the darkness.

* * *

**A/N: **I'm well aware that Draco/Astoria have a severe lack of self-awareness in this chapter.


	12. Chapter 12

**Disclaimer: I own nothing**

* * *

She flexed her right arm with a painful whine, the results of the cruciatus being felt on the backside of her elbow.

"Very good." The soothing voice of the veela healer said. Astoria could feel the calming effect of her heritage at work. Circumstances aside, this had been the most pleasant stay with a healer she had ever had, she may have to switch to a veela full time.

It had been two days since Patil had attacked her, and she had been working tirelessly these past twenty-four hours to regain full movement in her extremities. "But you must be careful of over exertion, Lady Malfoy." Astoria wasn't sure how old the veela was, it was always difficult to tell with them - her healer didn't look older than twenty-five, maybe twenty-six - but her bedside manner gave her the impression that she was being tended to by a more senior member of the staff. She would have to thank Gabrielle and Elder Monclair for the high quality of care.

Involuntarily she glanced at the piece of parchment on her nightstand, a note from her father requesting her presence at Malfoy Vineyards in Bordeaux, where Scorpius was spending some quality time with her in-laws. "My son needs me, Healer Perault," she said through a labored smile - even her facial muscles were in excruciating pain. As if to prove her point, she gingerly positioned her body side-saddle on the comfortable hospital bed before placing her heels on the cool marble floor with a wince. Taking a deep breath, she stood up, a slight cry escaping her lips before Astoria was able to catch herself.

Healer Perrault's lips smiled but her eyes were conflicted. "I understand."

A knock at the door drew their attention towards the most masculine veela she had ever seen. "Lady Malfoy - "at Astoria's nod her guard continued, "young Lady Weasley is wondering if she could have a moment of your time?"

Astoria smiled brightly through the pain; "please, send her in." She turned to the healer; "would you leave us for a few moments?" Upon seeing Victoire, Healer Perault smiled widely. "Of course."

Victoire looked more disheveled than Astoria had ever seen her with her unkempt red hair and tired, _old, _eyes, the young veela was carrying a bouquet of golden chrysanthemums - Astoria's favorite. Was Astoria responsible for Victoire's condition? She felt guilty for taking a piece of her innocence.

"Lady Malfoy." She started with a tired curtsey. Even now her manners were precise. "Thank you so much for protecting me from Patil." The nine-year-old emitted an unnaturally high-pitched growl as she said her attacker's name, and for the briefest of moments she felt an immense hatred radiating from the girl before she controlled herself.

Astoria smiled at being able to elicit such a reaction from the veela. "Of course, love." She said in what she hoped was a calm demeanor. "Monsters like Patil will never hurt you." At the mention of her attacker's name Victoire's emotions flared briefly once more. "But you didn't have to come all the way down here for me." Privately she was touched at the reaction.

"I didn't -" Victoire started before catching herself. "What I meant to say was that I was already visiting my aunt and wanted to make sure you had everything you needed. My mum says you saved my life."

She grinned painfully before her mind comprehended exactly what Victoire was telling her. "Why is Gabrielle in the hospital?" She felt a panic rise within her.

Victoire's eyes widened before her entire body slumped and she collapsed on the bed, wailing. "She's dead!" Victoire cried.

The comment left her briefly bewildered. "Who's dead?" She asked softly, Astoria didn't know what she'd do if she lost Gabrielle. "Elder Monclair. And Elder Delacour would be as well if it weren't for Aunt Tonks."

Her instincts taking over, Astoria embraced the girl painfully, letting Victoire's sobs hit her casual robes for several long minutes. She desperately wanted to ask, but she could wait.

She stroked her thick blood red hair until the crying stopped. "What happened?" She hoped Victoire didn't notice the fear in her voice.

When she looked up the pain and sadness were gone, and the girl was doing her best impression of Gabrielle. "While leaving the ICW, Gabrielle, nanna, and Elder Monclair were betrayed -" there was that hatred again. The raw power that both awed and terrified her in equal measures. "Slow down, dear." Victoire was talking a mile a minute, as though if she told the story quicker the pain would disappear. Astoria would never learn anything at this pace.

Victoire paused.

"Why was Gabrielle at the ICW?" She asked, hoping to grasp the basics before moving into the misery.

Her brilliant blue irises glistened through unshed tears. "To request a warrant for the arrest of Parvati Patil." She said, as though it was the most obvious thing in the world. "For what she did to you." Astoria was touched that Gabrielle would go to such great lengths to protect her. "And for a whole lot of other shite." Victoire blurted before her eyes got big and she was left covering her mouth.

Astoria deflated slightly.

"Apologies, Lady Malfoy." The girl said much-more-lady-like. "And for the murder of seventeen people, the abduction of twenty-five veela, facilitating a shite ton of illegal sales, and for being a right-out cunt."

There's the Weasley bloodline.

"Then that Aiden guy and his stupid friends impersonated their security; killed nanna, killed Elder Monclair, and would've killed my Aunt Gabrielle if Aunt Tonks and her goon squad -" Victoire paused to smile at the nickname for Captain Tonks' special combat unit. "-hadn't chased them away." Victoire's voice softened. "Elder Delacour just woke up from her coma a few minutes ago."

"Elder Delacour?"

"Elder Monclair nominated her before she died."

She had so many questions.

"Can I see her?"

Victoire bit her lip in thought. She was going to drive the boys at Hogwarts wild with that look.

Poor kids.

Seeming to come to some internal conclusion the girl nodded her head confidently. "Would you like me to get the chair?"

Astoria thought for a moment, eyeing the girl hopefully. Victoire had to be close to a meter and a half. She could support her, need be.

"No thank you, Victoire." She replied with a natural smile. "We can walk."

* * *

He woke from whatever the hell happened slowly, doing his best to minimize movement, he glanced around the room.

Beige painted drywall around him on all sides a - "I know you're awake, Potter." A familiar, soft voice called out. He sighed. He had hoped Aiden hadn't turned the team.

Harry opened his eyes to a bigger man with deceptively kind blue eyes staring back at him in the left corner, closest to the door.

He was bound magically to a stool, his hands behind his back, unable to move his abdomen.

"Meadows." Harry replied calmly. "How's Bailey, the Bitch." Meadows used to joke that the only reason he stayed with the Bitch was because he didn't want to lose his beloved golden doodle in a custody battle.

"Bailey turned seven last month." He said fondly. "Unfortunately, the Bitch turns forty-seven next month." For a moment Harry forgot himself and let out a genuine laugh. "Ya know you let me out of here and I can put you in contact with Rolf Scamander. He's a personal friend of mine. Rolf and Luna are doing amazing things with longevity in animals."

His tone may have been light, but the ask was real and they both knew it.

Meadows laughed.

"If I could, I would. You know that, Boss." He and Meadows had been recruited right around the same time and went through training together, Harry knew this wasn't personal.

"Come on, Bones." Harry quipped, using the older man's violent nickname. "We both know you don't wanna hurt me."

Meadows nodded in agreement. "I don't, Harry." He said sadly. "It pains me to see you in this situation, but a job is a job. Best I can tell, there's no way out of it."

Harry stared at him in confusion. "Why are you and Aiden doing this, Tim?"

The giant man shut his eyes softly before staring back at him with a smile. "The old bitch is pregnant, Harry."

He crumbled. Bones didn't think it would ever happen. It nearly ruined their marriage.

The Warlocks didn't pay well. Not enough to pay for Hogwarts, at least.

"Congratulations, Tim."

"Thank you, Harry."

They fell into a silence after that and Harry shut his eyes in thought.

Restraining wards were rudimentary and fickle, hence the massive, sociopathic guard outfitted in knives, holding him at wand-point.

He occluded his mind, channeling his magic to his right side, the side furthest from Meadows and pushed, hoping to free himself from his binds.

He felt a break, wiggling his right hand in success.

Meadows eyed him carefully for a long moment.

He knew.

Harry felt his leg free and shifted focus to the left side of his body.

If he didn't free himself quickly it was likely Meadows would kill him without hesitation, personal feelings aside.

He nearly had it when Meadows smiled. "I'm told Lord Smith wants a word, Harry." Tim said with a soft grin. "You're his guest so I am going to acquiesce."

He felt himself break free completely. "Goodbye, Tim." He was happy it didn't come to violence. Without his wand Harry didn't think he could take the larger man.

If Aiden found out Meadows let him go there'd be a fight. Who would win? It may be worth finding out.

"Goodbye, Chosen One."

He gave a final mocking bow as he exited stage left. A moment later Zacharias Smith entered, a devilish smile on his chiseled face.

"Lord Potter-Black!" Smith yelled with a polite bow.

Smith didn't shut or lock the door, foolishly self-confident.

His former classmate flicked his wrist and a familiar holly and phoenix feather wand appeared in his left hand.

"Perhaps the second most famous wand in history." Smith opined.

Patience. Not now. He repeated the words in his mind. This was a good thing; he'd solved his second most pressing problem.

"I've always been good with transfiguration." Smith said conversationally before sitting in his newly transfigured chair. "Not as good as you, but who is."

"Thank you." He had so many questions. "Can I ask you a question, Zacharias, as long as we're here?"

"Please, Harry. I've always wanted some quality time with you."

"In the Hog's Head, fifth year."

Smith gestured that he remembered.

"Why did you ask about Cedric?"

Smith smiled. "He was my housemate; he had been murdered six months prior and I was curious."

He wasn't impressed and it showed on his face. Smith's face slowly turned into a grin. Standing to his feet he began to pace the room.

They both knew the answer was bullshit.

"Sometimes I forget that before Ginny's passing." He felt a bit of rage pass through him. "Don't worry, Harry. This isn't about her. This isn't about you, perse, either come to think of it." He paused. "I forget that before her passing you were the best killing machine the ministry has ever produced. Most people go to Hogwarts, play quidditch, get laid, try and avoid detention. You killed beasts, helped escaped convicts - tell me, did you really travel through time with Hermione to save Sirius Black? That's the one I've never believed."

"Three turns should do it, I think." He muttered to himself.

"What was that?" A steel toed boot found his shin.

He didn't flinch.

"Yes. We did. Sirius was my godfather and innocent."

Smith shrugged. "I know."

He paused for a long moment; Harry would allow his soliloquy. He was too curious at this point.

"I asked because I hated Diggory. Quidditch, girls, charm. The perfect shite got everything he ever wanted. Did you know my dad once called him the personification of Hufflepuff? He said Cedric's death was a permanent stain on the house; he commissioned the bloody bronze statue that sits in the common room." He spat the last part hatefully, showing his true colors. "I was glad he was dead, if you had killed him, I'd have bought you a bottle of firewhisky."

If Smith had more magical prowess, he'd be a young Tom Riddle.

"Why veela?"

"I love beauty." He said curtly, seemingly losing interest in the little game. "My turn. What will the goblins give me for delivering a vial of your blood? I think I'll ask for an even split but settle for a third. Delivering you alive should secure that much, at least."

He lunged at Smith, driving his shoulder into his chest, forcing the smaller man to the ground, Harry drove his fist into Smith's chin knocking him out in one punch.

Grabbing back his wand he felt a familiar warmth course through him as though he was being greeted by an old friend.

Harry fixed Smith's concussion with a flick before transfiguring the man into a rat and stunning him. Next he conjured a marble box and sealed the rat inside. He had about six hours till that would wear off.

He took a left out of the room and was greeted by an empty hallway with large rectangular windows overlooking the English Channel.

A quick hominem revelio told him that there was only one other person on the property, he recognized the magical signature and smiled. "Flint." He muttered to himself. The man had been missing for weeks and now he knew why.

Calmly he headed towards the oaf's room.

"Potter." The former chaser grunted the second he stepped into a familiar looking room. "Flint." He said, leveling his wand at the older man.

"I assume you killed Smith then?"

He took a moment; he had walked into the room without a plan and that was becoming painfully obvious.

"No." Harry said, shaking the marble box in his left hand.

"Ah." Was Flint's dignified reply.

Another moment passed in silence.

"What are you going to do with me?" He said.

"Give me a reason to let you live?"

Flint seemed to be conflicted. There was a mutual hatred between the two. Besides the standard house and quidditch rivalries, Harry had hunted down and killed several of the man's closest friends after the war.

This couldn't be an easy decision for him and frankly, Harry was indifferent towards his response.

Ultimately Flints' will to live outweighed his hatred of him.

"I keep a ledger in my personal study. It has every detail of every interaction - including dates, times, and financial records - I've ever had with the Monkey's Paw. If you let me live, you'll have the holy triumvirate."

Written details with dates, times, and financial records. Memories. A corroborating witness that would both testify to, and walk the jury through, those memories.

"You'll testify?"

"Oliver Wood would be completely exonerated."

"He has nothing to worry about." Harry said, dismissing Flint's insinuation. "Elder Monclair would never allow it."

Flint laughed. "The Zekanot pushed back and Monclair caved. Your bird didn't tell you? I heard Smith laughing about it with Patil. When she made her case to the Council, they made her swear that she would prosecute Wood."

He squashed the feeling of betrayal threatening to spill over. She had promised.

"What do you want?" He snapped.

Flint rolled his eyes. "Immunity, you fucking idiot."

"Fine." He had no authority to give it, but Flint had always been slow.

Flint either seemed to take him at his word or realized this would be his best opportunity to escape. Either way the man's unexpected compliance was a relief.

"What is this place? Talk as you walk, let's go." Harry said impatiently, changing the topic as he kept the restraints on his prisoner's hands.

He kept his wand on Flint's back as they exited the room.

"One of the Smith family's country homes." Flint said conversationally. "It's his favorite. He runs Monkey's Paw from here, apparently. You're going to want to search this place thoroughly, that motherfucker loves to talk about his plans when he drinks, and he loves to drink. He's like a bad supervillain in muggle cinema."

What a strange day.

"How does the organization work? Start at the top."

Flint hummed a little tune to himself as they turned a corner.

"The only person who knew Smith's identity was Parvati. I didn't learn till he came here to taunt and hit me like a little pussy." Flint paused for a second. "I worked with Parvati to recruit Pansy and the goons, then I blackmailed Wood. The idiot never even asked why we needed the personal information of the veela."

The bastard was boasting.

"How did you choose the victims?" He wanted to know if his theory was correct.

"Women usually attended that spin class in pairs or small groups on a regular basis; sort of like a weekly ritual. We would look for veela who attended sporadically and alone. When we discovered who they were I'd ask Wood about them, he would give me a basic description of the creature's demeanor and a far more detailed description of the beast's physical attributes-"

Flint would never reform. His lack of natural abilities would always have him leaning on his perceived purity. Pure marry pure, cousins marry cousins. The gene pool is diluted like the lines of the old muggle monarchs, and the mentally ill offspring of two mentally ill parents control nearly half the wealth in Britain.

Inbreeding was the only explanation for the rise of a lunatic as thin on ideals as Riddle.

"from there we would hunt the beast and execute. If you were going to apparate us anywhere, Potter, this is the place." Flint gestured to a beautifully decorated garden overlooking the cliffs of Dover.

With a 'stupefy' Flint dropped like a sack of potatoes to the cold, hard path. Satisfied, Harry grabbed him by his collar and apparated to Menton.

* * *

"You stunned her." Aiden's voice was full of incredulity. She was supposed to have killed Fleur, but that seemed counterproductive in the long-term. Aiden was a man of action, not strategy.

"Yes, dear." She said as she sipped her espresso, her left leg sitting lazily in her lap, her left hand working through a rune puzzle in the prophet. "Then Victoire disarmed and nearly stunned me. That's why I need a new wand." She finished, with barely concealed joy. She hadn't expected her young protege to react so calmly under duress.

"You were disarmed by a seven-year-old?"

"Victoire is nine." She retorted, insulted on Victoire's behalf.

"You were disarmed by a nine-year-old and you need another new wand. Your second in as many days."

"That's what I said." Was he slow?

"What the fuck is wrong with you?"

"I wasn't going to kill Victoire's mother, she would never forgive me."

Aiden blanched.

"I was going to keep her alive and periodically threaten Fleur and Bill's lives so Victoire would comply."

"Your obsession with this girl has to stop, Parvati." Aiden pleaded but she paid him no mind.

"She's very advanced for her age, you know. The ability to control her gift, her calm demeanor and precise wand movements. I saw her practice once at Shell Cottage before the election. You can tell Harry has had his influence on her casting style. Her movements are smooth and relaxed. She may not know many spells, but the handful she does know are useful, and can be done in high stress situations. That comes from hours of practice, as you know." She babbled on, fully aware of Aiden's rising temper.

"ENOUGH!" He shouted. "We need to think of our next steps." She held her sigh. The drop of basilisk venom she had indirectly acquired from Harry, of all people, would finally get used, it would seem.

She shut her eyes for a long moment and allowed her face to melt into a defeated look. "You're right." She said meekly, diverting her eyes to the oak floor. "What's next?"

Aiden smiled. "My team caught Harry. I'm going to go dispose of him."

Her relieved smile was genuine. "Give him my love."

He kissed her softly. "I will."

She watched as he disappeared into the floo. If Harry killed Aiden, she could use the basilisk venom to kill Harry. And in the highly unlikely scenario Aiden succeeded in killing Harry then that herculean task will have solved itself.

* * *

She was overcome with disorientation the moment she opened her eyes, only stabilizing herself when she noticed Tara sleeping in Victoire's lap on a leather couch underneath a cliché painting of the French countryside.

Victoire's eyes lit up the moment she saw she was awake but didn't move. "Aunt Gabrielle!" She said in a loud whisper, waking Tara from her nap. "Gabrielle!" Tara mimicked, giving her a gentle hug while Gabrielle lay in her bed, before falling silent in deference to Victoire.

She hadn't had many opportunities to watch her niece interact with Veela her own age. In Fleur and Bill's rush to assimilate their daughter to the modern world they had neglected to find suitable veela friends for their daughter. That would have to be rectified.

Her niece looked disturbingly exhausted, but still held Tara's hand protectively. Victoire knew Tara's story and still chose to take on that responsibility. Did her niece fully comprehend what befriending Tara could entail? "What happened to you?" Gabrielle asked.

The experiences Tara endured would likely haunt her till the day she died. She was reminded of something Albus Dumbledore said to the students of Hogwarts shortly after informing them of the death of Cedric Diggory and the return of Voldemort after the Triwizard Tournament:

"_Dark times lie ahead of us and there will be a time when we must choose between what is easy and what is right." _

Victoire smiled. "Patil stunned mum and tried to kidnap me." Her voice was distant. Gabrielle would need to get her a mind healer to curb any post-traumatic stress she may suffer. "Don't worry!" She said, her mood brightening. The unkempt hair and bags under her eyes told her she should worry. "I disarmed that _**vial **_woman and nearly stunned her!"

Gabrielle smiled despite the situation. Victoire was a gem.

Silence filled the room as a rush of memories flooded her psyche.

She wanted to cry. Her mother, gone. Annette, gone.

She was Elder Delacour now.

Or was she? Without Annette around she could easily be contested.

"What happened?" She inquired. Why was she learning this from a nine-year-old? Where was Harry? Or Fleur for that matter.

A somber look overcame Victoire's features. "Aunt Tonks arrived."

"With the goon squad?"

Victoire smiled, "what's the goon squad?" Gabrielle laughed. "That's your Uncle Ron's nickname for your Aunt Tonks unit."

"Oh! You just missed Aunt Tonks and Teddy."

She was mildly surprised. Gabrielle was perhaps the only member of the extended family that didn't get along with the metamorph.

"Where's Harry?"

Victoire looked about nervously. "We don't know. Nobody has seen him for a few days."

A flood of worry overcame her. Harry was going to check out Smith's shop before her speech.

Things were falling apart. "Tara." She said softly, giving her a warm smile. "Would you wait for me at Shell Cottage?" The younger girl looked to Victoire for affirmation before nodding her head slowly and heading towards the floo.

"Victoire." She commanded. "Would you fetch a healer and my sister?" She needed to get sworn in or all her work would be lost.

"Mum is outside the door."

Perfect.

"Would you mind if I say hi to Lady Malfoy?"

She paused, a wave of guilt hitting her. Gabrielle had forgotten about Astoria. "Of course."

"Thank you!"

She took a moment to marvel at her niece's mood swings as Victoire ran out the door before turning her focus to the Zekanot and the Elder Council.

* * *

Victoire held an arm out to stop her from barging into Gabrielle's room.

"She said there's too much going on with the planning of a state funeral to take a meeting, instead she offered to meet you after you deliver the eulogy."

Victoire knocked three times loudly.

"Come in." The invitation was soft and full of exhaustion. Astoria wasn't sure the extent of her friend's injuries but understood the exhaustion.

"Elder Delacour." Victoire curtsied. "Mother." Victoire seemed to be doing better since her earlier cry. Astoria was relieved.

"Lady Weasley." Gabrielle said softly.

To her surprise Victoire went and stood to the right of her Aunt's bed while Fleur left the room without a word.

"Would you?" Gabrielle said informally, gesturing towards Victoire's hair.

The nine-year-old tapped her head and mumbled some words; her hair ridding itself of all its knots and snarls. Another touch to her face and Victoire had a very light, uneven layer of makeup on, which Gabrielle fixed with a flick.

"My sister insisted that if Victoire was going to begin learning magic at six, then she would learn some basic cosmetic charms. Despite Gabrielle's clear discomfort she smiled. "Though she's still learning."

Although she was the subject of the conversation, Victoire was silent and still next to her Aunt's bed, it was then that Astoria realized the formality of the situation.

At her unasked question, Gabrielle smiled. "Victoire has shown a natural affinity towards empathy and an even more natural connection to magic. Much like Harry, she has the raw potential to accomplish great things." Victoire didn't move and Gabrielle smiled.

Gabrielle patted the empty spot on the bed next to her, motioning for Astoria to join her. "How are you?" She inquired warmly, after a light embrace.

The only other person who had ever shown such a genuine interest in her life had been Draco. Is that what Gabrielle had become? A surrogate for her dead husband?

"I'm doing okay. Thank you for arriving when you did. This -" she said, gesturing to Gabrielle's injuries. "Wasn't the result of Patil, I heard?"

"It was not." Gabrielle confirmed. "I was ambushed yesterday after receiving a warrant for her arrest. My mother and great aunt were killed."

She let the words hang in the air for a second. She didn't want to reply too quickly.

"What happened?"

Gabrielle stared out her window into the bright spring sun for a long moment and Astoria realized that Gabrielle probably hadn't gotten around to telling her story yet. Victoire said she had only been up for ten minutes or so prior to her arrival.

"What has Victoire told you?"

"That she and Fleur were attacked by Patil after ballet. Victoire disarmed her and ultimately fought her off."

The look of pride on Gabrielle's face had to have been mirrored on her own, and for the first time since she and Gabrielle had begun talking, Victoire made herself known by way of a shy blush that matched her hair.

"Your mother and Elder Monclair were killed in an ambush." She said softly. "Lady Lupin drove them off."

Gabrielle grinned at the use of Captain Tonks official last name.

"Three attackers; one of them a protégé of Harry's, attacked us after luring us into an alley." She spoke quietly but her voice carried throughout the room. "After hitting my mother with a killing curse, Annette and I eliminated one of the three attackers before she was also killed. I was on the verge of death myself when Tonks arrived." She paused and put her arm around Astoria's waist, pulling her in a little closer. "I woke up here fifteen minutes ago."

"How did you become Elder Delacour?"

"The Zekanot confirmed me as Premier this week." At her confused look Gabrielle smiled. "If anything happened to any of the veela on the council I was pre-approved to take their place as an Elder. It's a seldom filled position that prevents continuity gaps in case of a tragedy." She let her words hang in the air. "There was supposed to be a formal ceremony today to make it official."

"What about the rest of the Elder Council?"

"The argument I made to the Zekanot was that my accomplishments warranted a spot on the council. My popularity and standing within the ICW led to unanimous approval. The relationships I've developed, both on the reservation and abroad, should make me the de facto leader."

"Should?"

Gabrielle shrugged. "There's always uncertainty, and with Annette gone," she gave her friend a brief hug as she struggled to continue, "someone will make a move. I had asked Fleur to set up a meeting with a potential rival, but she was rebuked." Gabrielle frowned. "Not that I need their stupid ceremony in order to be seated, the paperwork was filed, and the legitimacy cannot be contested. Ideally, I would have several years on the council learning from Elder Monclair before assuming a leadership role. These were not ideal times."

They fell into a comfortable silence for nearly a minute before Gabrielle broke it. "How's Scorpius?"

She frowned. "My parents took him to my in-laws for some quality time." The exile had been a convenient excuse for her and Draco to cut Lucius and Narcissa out of their lives. She was worried what could happen now that they were back in and Draco was no longer around to keep the peace.

"I'm going to discharge myself as soon as we're done here to go see him, in fact. I wanted to thank you for the care you and the Veela have provided me. If you hadn't shown up, I'd be suffering a fate worse than death." She meant it, she would rather be dead than end up like Frank and Alice Longbottom.

"Where's Harry?" She asked quizzically. Astoria had expected the man to be here for his girlfriend.

Gabrielle and Victoire's face took on twin worried expressions. "I don't know." Gabrielle said softly. "He had a theory that Zacharias Smith was funding the organization responsible for the disappearances and I think he went to poke around his shop in Dover. That was before my speech. Victoire says nobody's seen him since."

Astoria brushed aside her friend's worries. "Draco always said Harry Potter was tougher to kill than a cockroach. I'm sure he's fine."

"Yeah." Gabrielle said distractedly. "I'm sure you're right."

* * *

She stepped out of the fireplace to an open-aired patio overlooking hundreds of acres of grape vines backing up to the French Alps, which retained just the slightest bit of snow on their peaks.

"The sight can be quite breathtaking." The soft voice of Narcissa Malfoy interrupted unseen from several meters to her left. I miss taking tea in the gardens of Malfoy Manor, for sure, but the view does not quite compare to this."

Unlike most woman of her stature, Narcissa Malfoy refused anti-aging cosmetic charms, preferring to rely on the natural beauty and grace of the Black family instead. The refusal to cosmetically alter herself extended to her hair, meaning the once white-blonde hair of her youth now mingled with strands of dark gray.

"The beauty is astounding." Astoria and her late husband had conflicting thoughts on the middle-aged witch. While Draco had agreed with the assertion that his father was a cruel, sadistic, psychopath; her husband had always maintained that Narcissa Malfoy was a meek woman who lived to please Lucius.

"It really is." The target of her internal monologue quipped. "This evening we'll take dinner in the garden, I'll have the elves coordinate with the sunset. It's equally breathtaking."

Was Andromeda meek? Bellatrix? Andromeda defied family tradition while Bellatrix became arguably the most destructively gifted witch of the last two centuries. Those genetics don't make meek witches.

They walked in comfortable silence off the patio into an open-aired corridor. "I had the elves make up the guest room." Her tone was apologetic, but her face was indifferent. There was a secondary suite which would have generally been reserved for herself and Draco, quite abruptly she became aware of her current station. She had allowed her son to leave Britain without her and now there were new rules.

Astoria took the insult in stride. "Thank you." She said graciously. "How's Scorpius?"

Something came across Narcissa's face, but it was gone a millisecond later as Narcissa turned and began to walk off. "He's been enjoying some quality time with his grandfathers."

Thankfully she was half a step behind her hostess so Narcissa couldn't see her frown. Lucius Malfoy and Robert Greengrass weren't supposed to have unsupervised access to her son. In an emergency that responsibility was supposed to fall to Daphne.

The look on her face soured at the thought of her sister. She had failed at this, too, it would seem.

"Where's my mother?"

"Lady Greengrass is helping your sister with a personal issue."

The elves took her bags and she followed Narcissa as they wound their way through the chateua until they found their way to a cute Juliet balcony with a set of chairs and a table with a bottle of white wine chilled in the center. "We grow mostly Cabernet Sauvignon grapes. But this white is a blend of the Cabernet Sauvignon and Semillon grapes. About an eighty-twenty split in favor of the Semillon."

"It's very good." Astoria said truthfully, though with a bit of annoyance. This wasn't meant to be a social visit, but it would be poor form to disrespect the powerful woman. "What's the vintage on this?"

"1996." Narcissa replied. They fell into a companionable silence.

Astoria closed her eyes for several long moments, allowing the alcohol a moment to dull her pain and creeping anxiety. Where is Scorpius?

"He's flying with Lucius and Robert." Astoria hadn't realized she had said that out loud.

She smiled softly. Scorpius loved the air. Flying with his father had been one of his favorite activities. She had tried to take him once, but her fear of heights made them both uncomfortable.

"He loves the sky." She said. "He'll be a joy to watch at Hogwarts."

Narcissa smiled broadly. Astoria had always been weary of the woman, but there was no doubting she loved her grandson. "Lucius seems to think he's got the eyesight of a seeker." She said looking out towards the mountains. "But he's aggressive and has a bit of strength for his age. I think he's a natural beater."

She grinned. "Draco thought he'd be a seeker as well." She said, recalling a conversation she once had with him. "I think he could end up as a chaser, myself. But there's nothing wrong with being a beater. A well placed bludger can destroy the opposition."

"I agree." Narcissa replied as they refilled their glasses and fell into silence once more.

"How have you been, Astoria?"

She pondered the question, how was she doing? "Outside of the attack things have been relatively calm. Scorpius is enjoying his lessons and is having regular playdates."

"Yes." Her mother in law said blandly. "Creatures and those with mixed blood." Her tone was bitter. Astoria doubted the older woman would ever get over being jettisoned from her way of life back in London.

"Yes." She said firmly, unwilling to give an inch in this unspoken game of wills. "Under the guidance of your son the family fortune grew by thirty two percent last year. After his death I stabilized the account, bet on the right griffin, so to speak, and set Scorpius up to be an influential member of our society for the next hundred years."

Narcissa hummed a note of disagreement but said nothing.

"When can we expect them back?" Astoria asked, changing the subject to something slightly more important.

The hostess' smile seemed manufactured; she wasn't as proficient an actress as most woman of her station. "You arrived unexpected. Lady Greengrass. Lucius, your father, and Scorpius had barely been gone three minutes when you arrived. They'll be back for dinner."

She winced. She had arrived unannounced.

"I apologize, Narcissa." The ordeal with Patil had left her paranoid. "It's been a long couple of days, and I've been worried about my son."

Narcissa's face softened. "I understand, dear." The comforting tone seemed out of place coming from her, but it seemed sincere. "I've been held under that curse. I know the pain. I know you think of the ones you love while under it."

Astoria smiled and extended an olive branch. "Is there anything I can help you with before dinner?"

Narcissa nodded softly, accepting her apology. "Not at the moment, dear."

They fell into silence again as they finished the bottle of wine.

"Have I told you we started producing our own Champagne?"

No, she hadn't. They weren't in regular correspondence with one another.

She pushed aside the snark, that would get her nowhere. Maybe she had been spending too much time with Gabrielle?

As if by magic a bottle of champagne and two crystal flutes replaced their previous setup.

Narcissa poured them each a flute and Astoria soon found herself on autopilot, lost in her own thoughts. What was the point of this? Why was she here?

There were a thousand possibilities; from the innocent to the sinister.

Her bags were in her room. In her bags was a one-way portkey to the reserve in Menton, a courtesy of Elder Delacour.

"I'd like to freshen up." She said politely, praying to merlin she didn't slur her words.

Astoria took a few slow steps before turning around to face her mother-in-law. "Where is Scorpius's room?"

Narcissa smiled. "Directly across from yours. Robert wanted it near his room, but I insisted he be near his mother."

"Thank you." She beamed. The revelation made Astoria slightly more comfortable with the situation.

Two rights and a left later she found herself in front of Scorpius's door.

A flick unlocked her son's room and allowed her to sneak in and place a small, familiar mirror under his pillow before quietly leaving.

**111**

She purred involuntarily as the warm water infused with murtlap essence soothed her bruised body. Ideally, she needed another few days rest before undertaking something this strenuous.

Astoria tapped her head silently, the haze of the alcohol disappearing instantaneously. It would not do to attend a dinner with Lucius Malfoy while inebriated.

What was his goal here?

She thought for hardly a moment; Lucius Malfoy was not a complicated man. He wanted control.

Control of what?

Her son. Lucius had resented the fact that his own son had cut him out of his life, shunning him from his only grandson.

Why would he want control of her Scorpius?

The largest private fortune in the world. The family seat.

Why?

He didn't like exile. The full resources of the Malfoy family could help change that. If he got in Scorpius's ear for long enough her son would cling to his advice.

Why?

Getting back to Great Britain would give him access to political circles he dominated for decades and he was craving that feeling once again.

Astoria stretched as she exited the bath before exiting her room onto her private balcony to dry off in the sun.

**111**

Scorpius saw her before she saw him. "Mum!" He screamed in delight, a small blond mess launching himself at her, gripping her in an excruciating embrace.

"Careful Scorpius." The slow drawl of Lucius Malfoy sent tingles down her spine. "Your mother was pushed to the brink of insanity. The curse she was held under is so painful it breaks your mind." Scorpius's grey eyes widened. "It's called the cruciatus curse."

"Yes, Lord Malfoy." Scorpius was three. "Did you have fun flying, love?"

His oversized head nodded enthusiastically. "Lord Malfoy is a good teacher."

"Your father used to say the same thing." It was important that he was constantly reminded of his father, especially as he got older and his memories of Draco begin to fade.

"Are you having dinner with us?"

She smiled and grabbed his fat little hand. "Why don't you show me where to go?"

**111**

The main course was an excellent pheasant in a red wine reduction of some sort, served with steamed vegetables and a glass of merlot.

"I'm glad to see you're recovering adequately from your ordeal." Her father said rather flippantly, giving Astoria the impression that he was asking more to save face than anything else. Robert Greengrass didn't give a damn about anybody except for Robert Greengrass.

"Yes. The care provided by Ambassador Delacour and Elder Monclair was world class." She didn't want to give Lucius the scoop on the tragedy within the Zekanot just yet.

Lord Greengrass snorted. "The creatures have evolved."

"I wouldn't be so judgmental when it comes to Veela healing tactics, Robert." Lucius interjected. "The effects they have on the brain can be quite soothing."

He sounded as though he spoke from experience.

"Be that as it may, Lord Malfoy." Her father was an excellent kiss ass. He craved power and status symbols. Lucius Malfoy preyed on that vulnerability. "It brings us to the broader point of the appropriateness of an heir to a family like the Malfoy's associating with blood traitors like the Weasley's and creatures like her lover in the ICW."

Occlumency was perhaps the most useful form of magic that she could perform.

Ignoring the insinuation, she smiled and met her father's eyes. "I appreciate your insights, father. But your views are antiquated. I'm positioning the Malfoy family to thrive in the future."

Her arguments would fall on deaf ears, she was certain. These men wouldn't change.

Lucius scoffed. "Your behavior is inappropriate. You represent my family on that island, and I will not have some self-righteous girl undue a century of work."

"Your work led to the deaths of thousands and set our entire society back a generation. You backed the wrong horse and that's fine. Adjusting our stance on blood status and creature rights doesn't make us blood traitors it makes us survivors. The legacy of the family for the next several generations will be that their ability to set aside petty blood issues led to greater cultural and financial prosperity."

Lucius didn't react. Astoria hadn't expected him to, but she had wanted him to. She had wanted him to lose his temper in front of Scorpius, but he didn't.

Wiping the corner of his mouth, Lucius spoke. "Regardless of your opinion." His tone was firm and reeked of finality. "Lord Greengrass and I have come to a mutual agreement to terminate your marriage to my son effective immediately."

She sat in stunned disbelief for an eternity, then a hot tear ran down her face. This was cruel.

"Scorpius will remain here, in Boudreaux, with Narcissa and I."

Lucius twisted the knife.

"You will have visitation rights, of course. No son should grow up without his mother." Her father added as though he had done her some grand favor. "Every other weekend you will be permitted to use the room you are currently occupying."

The tears ran down her face cutting through her makeup. She had already lost her husband, now she was supposed to lose her son? What kind of father would agree to this?

"With that being said." Her father continued, her eyes resting on Scorpius as he played with his food, oblivious to the carnage going on around him. "You're far too young to be a widow."

She filled with dread, fearing what she knew was coming next.

"It was difficult to find a suitor given your… difficult circumstances."

She felt disgusted. She had been sold like cattle.

"Fortunately, Lord Higgs has graciously agreed to marry you. You will provide him with a son to continue the Higgs line."

Her father was discussing the sale of his daughter casually over dinner as if they were discussing the weather. Astoria was going to be sick.

"Then you will produce an heir for the Greengrass line."

Terrence Higgs was a disgusting, violent human being.

There was no use protesting. Not under these circumstances, at least.

Wiping her tears, she gave her son a sad smile. "Can I at least tuck him in for the night?"

It was her father who spoke. "You can say goodnight here, dear." He said. "Lucius and Narcissa will be showing him to his new room after dinner."

Lucius smirked and her heart sank. She had been out maneuvered.

The topic changed and she did her best to act normally in front of her son, unsure if she was succeeding or not. For what it was worth her three-year-old didn't seem to notice.

Saying goodnight, Astoria watched as Lucius and Narcissa took her son away from her.

"This way, Madam Greengrass." A previously unseen security guard said, making himself known.

He didn't even greet her as 'Lady.'

She kept her composure on the walk to her room before collapsing into her bed and crying for several long minutes.

There was only one person who would willingly take on Lucius Malfoy, and she would bet Harry would do it for free.

Grabbing her bags, Astoria Greengrass grabbed the paperweight from her bag before glancing longingly at the door.

"I'll be back, my little dragon." She whispered more to herself than her son.

"There's no place like home." She felt Harry's portkey burst through the Malfoy family wards before tugging strongly at her navel, exacerbating the aftereffects of the cruciatus curse.

Sometimes life is a crucible.

* * *

He walked into the holding cells in the heart of the reserve dragging an unconscious Marcus Flint behind him, humming a little tune to himself, pleased with how the last thirty-six hours had gone, regardless of the brief imprisonment.

"Good evening," he paused as he scanned her surface thoughts, looking for her name. "Esmerelda" he said with a disarming smile. The dark skinned Spanish veela was Gabrielle's age.

She gave him a sad smile. "Lord Potter." She said, a bit confused. "If you're looking for Elder Delacour she's still in the hospital."

A jolt of panic coursed through him.

Outwardly he kept his face blank. "What happened?"

Esmerelda gave him a strange look. "The attacks at the ICW and the attempted kidnapping in muggle London sir." She said, his heartbeat rising. "Elder Monclair is dead." The young veela cried. "Ambassador Delacour was injured but is fine. She's ascended to the Elder Council."

"She's in no danger?"

"She will make a full recovery, the Wireless says."

He nodded. Harry needed to see her, but he had to take care of these two first.

"I need to put these two in separate cells."

The veela nodded. "Names?"

He thought for a moment. "No names for now. Not till after I speak with Elder Delacour."

She nodded obediently. "Of course, Lord Potter."

He cringed at the formal title but let it slide. "Thank you."

Harry exited the station and headed left, forgoing the aesthetically pleasing trails to cut through the landscape on his way to the hospital.

Gabrielle was nearly assassinated, and he had a good idea who was behind it.

"Uncle Harry!" A familiar, overjoyed voice cried out from several meters above him.

Looking up he smiled. "Hello Victoire."

He watched in amusement as she jumped from the branch she was balancing on, landing gracefully on the grass below.

Rushing at him she engulfed him in her best attempt at a bone-crushing hug, burying her face into his chest.

"We were so worried about you!" She yelled into his chest.

He smiled. "Why's that."

"Elder Delacour and I hadn't seen you in over a day! We thought you'd been captured!"

He had been captured. She didn't need to know the details.

"How's Fred?" He inquired, changing the topic to something safe.

His niece beamed. "Really good!" She gushed. "He voluntarily gave me his horn and some tail hairs before shedding his golden coat! He's white now!"

He grabbed her hand protectively as they moseyed along the winding path. Now that he knew Gabrielle was safe, he was content to have a moment with the sweet girl.

"You should take those hairs to Ollivanders." There was another of the bastards, he could hardly believe it himself.

"I did!" She said proudly, her new wand in her unoccupied hand. "I love it! It disarmed Patil!"

He froze. "What happened?"

She rolled her eyes. "Patil tried to kidnap mum and I. Mum fell to a stunner, I disarmed her, but she dodged my stunner and got away." Her face soured.

He felt a burst of pride shoot through him. That would shut Molly up on whether it was appropriate to teach her combat magic. "I'm very proud of you." Victoire embraced him in another bone-crushing hug.

"That's very sweet." He felt a sense of relief at the sound of Gabrielle's voice.

He let go of Victoire and turned towards Gabrielle with a smile, closing the gap between them and embracing her gently before finding her dry lips. "I'm so sorry to hear about your mother and Elder Monclair."

She nodded with nothing but a sad smile. He admired her strength.

"Yes." She said, subtly glancing at her niece before continuing. "We can talk about it later. Where have you been? I've been so worried."

He smiled. "An old friend got the drop on me during my investigation." She looked terrified before he moved to assuage her fears. "I'm fine. Lord's Flint and Smith are guests of yours. I placed them in separate holding cells anonymously with a girl named Esmerelda.

Gabrielle nodded. "Good." Her face became apologetic. "The funeral is tomorrow at noon, at the graveyard on the north end of the reservation. Let's catch up after. I'm sorry, I just don't have the time right now."

He understood. "If you need me, I'll be there."

"Thank you."

He watched her walk away before turning his attention back to the patient girl. "Why don't you show me what spells you used?" He flicked his wrist and a familiar training dummy appeared. A second flick produced her monitoring equipment.

She grinned manically as she slipped on the glove. Her movements were simple and graceful as she spun on her heel and into a level crouch. "Expelliarmus!" Victoire whispered, her movements well practiced, her spell accurate.

He looked down at his monitor.

_Power: 93_

Harry smiled. Not for the first time he found himself pondering Hermione, Molly, and Fleur's requests. Victoire would need someone to look out for her at Hogwarts. Potential like hers deserved more guidance than he had received from Albus.

"Very good Victoire." She beamed.

He shot a silent stunner at her.

Victoire stepped to the side calmly. Harry wasn't surprised she disarmed Parvati. Not many would expect to be ambushed by a nine-year-old.

"Let's see your stunner."

She resumed her position and he almost laughed at how absurd she looked. He didn't want to discourage her.

"Stupefy." She said softly.

Quick precise movements and strong visualization produced a perfect stunner. Hitting the dummy square in the chest.

'_Power: 96'_

Around them, Harry was keenly aware of the growing crowd but paid them no mind. Victoire following his lead.

"Your shield?"

"Protego." She said lazily, an invisible shield coming into place.

Harry smiled as she held the shield. "Preforo." He said, going through the movements precisely so Victoire could hear. They'd review the memory of this lesson together, later in his pensieve.

The piercing charm ricocheted harmlessly off her shield.

'_Power: 96' _

He gave her a hug, lifting her into the air. "You're amazing, you know that?"

"Thank you." She said confidently as he set her back down.

"Harry, Lady Weasley." A familiar voice interrupted, ending the moment.

Astoria's normally well-kempt brown hair was a mess, her big brown eyes held unshed tears. He had never seen her look so…miserable.

"Lady Malfoy!" Victoire cried in concern as he cast a privacy bubble over the trio.

"Astoria what happened?"

She stared at Victoire for a long moment before coming to a conclusion. "Lucius and my father have dissolved my marriage to Draco and have kidnapped Scorpius."

As she told her story he knew what she was about to ask, and he dreaded it.

"Victoire, would you go practice your spells for a few minutes." He requested, though all three of them new it was an order.

His niece left them without question.

"Such an incredible girl." Astoria said softly as they watched Victoire practice. "Has she started on her first-year curriculum yet?"

He smiled. "I think I'll start on that after this is wrapped up. I've heard she has a good charms teacher."

It was her turn to smile.

"When does it need to be done?"

She said nothing for several seconds, her eyes still on Victoire. "My father leaves to file the paperwork in the morning."

They deserved it. All three of them. Astoria wasn't a monster; she didn't deserve the hand she was dealt.

"Do you still have that paperweight?" She nodded, reaching into her purse, she handed it to him.

He lowered the privacy wards. "Victoire!" He yelled, grabbing her attention. "Please escort Lady Malfoy to Gabrielle's place."

She nodded. "You'll be safe there." He said to Astoria.

She went to follow Victoire before stopping to address him. "You're saving my life, Harry. Thank you."

* * *

As she waited for her turn at the dais, she couldn't help but be thankful for eye cream. Between the re-emergence of Harry, the capture of Smith and Flint, the Elder Council, and funeral preparations she hadn't gotten any sleep.

She applauded politely as Elder Louise finished what she must have thought was a touching tribute to a woman she hated so deeply. It disgusted her that such a vile veela got the privilege of speaking at her Great Aunt's funeral.

Gabrielle smoothed the front of her conservative, loose fitting black dress nervously, her honey blonde hair tied tightly in a bun. She didn't want to be seen as beautiful today. Her message needed to be clear.

Annette wouldn't mind, she kept telling herself. Her great aunt had worked her entire life for full Veela equality. She wouldn't want her dream to be derailed at the finish line for anything, her death be damned.

Andrea Louise, the spiteful old cunt, would do everything in her power to ruin that legacy if she were left to her own devices.

When the Spiritual Advisor announced her as both an Ambassador and an Elder, the room broke into hushed whispers. From her peripherals she could see Elder Louise's frown, the announcement wasn't supposed to come till tomorrow, at a small, private ceremony.

Her eyes gazed out over the packed memorial, resting momentarily on the section reserved for the world press before moving on to the ICW representatives. Everything she had worked for could be lost at a moment's notice.

Closer to the front of the room she noticed Astoria, who was staring at Harry every-so-often. What happened there?

Harry, for his part, only had eyes for her, though he looked as exhausted as she felt. Despite that, his reassuring smile calmed her as she began her eulogy.

"My third year at Beauxbatons my Great Aunt Annette paid a surprise visit to the school and found me crying in the lavatory." It had been the year after the Triwizard Tournament and for the first time in her life she was on her own. She was the only veela at Beauxbatons and Gabrielle had never felt so alone.

She paused briefly to glance out at the crowd and smiled as she caught Harry's eye. "She asked me what was wrong, and I told her. And when I finished telling my petty little story about something another kid said to me, I wasn't met with the sympathy I thought I needed."

Annette would constantly refer to this little incident as her origin story. The point where Gabrielle stopped feeling sorry for herself and embraced her gifts. Unassuming as it may be, it was the single most important moment in her life.

"She told me that in life it was inevitable that people were going to dislike you for a whole bunch of reasons, some we can control, some we cannot. What we can control, Elder Monclair said, was how others perceive us, both as individuals and as a species. We control this perception not only by how we respond to adversity, but by the actions we take as individuals every day to better ourselves."

Her voice was barely above a whisper, but it carried through the cemetery.

"Annette Monclair was a woman who expected better, and because she asked so much of herself, she demanded the same of others."

She paused to sip from a flute of champagne. She was in no hurry.

"She was unsympathetic to incompetence as much as she was to intolerance." Her voice found its strength on its own. "Prior to her ascension to the Elder Council, Annette Monclair became the first Veela to win an international dueling competition, Monte Carlo in 1935, she would go on to win again in Cairo in 1937 and New York in 1939." Dueling couldn't save her, in the end. "She became the first Veela to obtain Mastery's in three subjects; charms, defense, and legal studies. All of which she obtained as the first Veela to attend one of Europe's three elite institutions at Beauxbatons where she later taught both defense and Veela Studies. Today Beauxbatons educates thirty-two Veela while Hogwarts will welcome their first Veela, her Great Grandniece Victoire, into their pre year one program this fall."

She could feel Victoire's calm-confidence from next to her. It pained her that Annette was robbed of the opportunity to watch her become the best of them.

She felt guilty. Apolline Delacour wouldn't be awarded this grand ceremony. Lesser members of the Zekanot weren't granted such gestures. Apolline would have pretended not to care, privately she would have appreciated the grandiosity of the whole thing.

"Her prowess, charm, and pedigree made her an easy choice to replace Elder Beatrice Poxum in 1948." Beatrice Poxum was a wretched creature who kept male slaves in her basement and famously advocated for harvesting the organs of muggles.

"In the decades prior to her ascension the twelve Veela colonies had reverted to a loose confederation of reservations with a rudderless Zekanot that had been gutted of its power by a populace that had grown tired of the tyrannical corruption of their Elders."

She paused to sip her champagne. Her previous statement couldn't be emphasized enough. Prior to Annette, Veela had lost all respect for themselves and among the international community.

"This disarray had us viewed by outsiders as mindless creature's incapable of higher thought. Annette Monclair demanded better of us. Her refusal to accept less of her kind has led to several generations of strong leadership and reformations aimed at achieving equality for Veela on the international stage."

Her voice had become strong, somewhat out of nowhere. She took a deep breath to calm it down. That wasn't the tone she was trying to strike.

"When we were attacked the other day, we were trying to do just that." Her voice broke slightly, the first crack in her emotional shield.

She felt a few tears roll down her cheek. "Her legacy will be our equality in the International Confederation of Wizards." She paused. This was for the media. She needed them to remember that it was Gabrielle that fought on the front lines, negotiating for Veela rights in the ICW, delivering results. It was them who would choose the next leader of the council, not Louise or the others. "Annette Monclair will always be known as the leader that saved our species from extermination." She paused, one last time. "We honor her legacy by ensuring our daughters futures."

* * *

**A/N: **As an American who has written this entire chapter in the aftermath of the Murder in Minneapolis, I take comfort in the knowledge that the most important thematic element of the Harry Potter series is the destructive nature hate and bigotry can have on an entire society.

**A/N2: **Tonks and Remus are alive in this story. Also, Bill and Fleur only have one child (for now at least) frankly I'd forgotten they had had two others.

**A/N3: **"Power" is a metric based on a previous training session between Aiden and Harry. The "93" is the percentile Victoire's spells fall into in her age range. So, she is in the top 7% of spellcasters in her age bracket (internally I was thinking ages 11 and below).


	13. Chapter 13

**Disclaimer: **I do not own HP

**A/N: **** This story is rated M**** **

One note: JKR once stated that "one galleon is about 5 British Pounds Sterling, though the exchange rate varies." According to Google, when adjusted for inflation; a galleon is currently worth $6.64 or 5.58 in Euros.

* * *

He watched calmly from beneath his invisibility cloak as Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy entertained Lord Greengrass and their grandson over dinner on the open-air patio, torches billowing in the warm spring breeze.

"Your father used to love to fly – "several meters behind Lucius Malfoy, Harry stood listening to the older man reminisce about a quidditch match that he remembered a bit differently. "He was quite agile and utterly fearless." Though he was staring at the back of the man's head, Harry could see the cocky, aggravating smirk that was undoubtedly attached to the middle-aged man's face, the smirk that first enraged him during Lucius and Arthur's fight in Diagon Alley all those years ago. The fight he used as a distraction in order to slip a horcrux to Ginny. That little stunt nearly got Hogwarts closed. This was long overdue.

He couldn't hear Scorpius's question, but he could hear the gruff, intoxicated voice of Robert Greengrass. "You should've seen your father's matches against Potter! Absolutely classic! If the filthy half-blood hadn't resorted to cheating, Slytherin would have a few more quidditch cups!"

Robert Greengrass and Lucius Malfoy would raise a supremacist bigot. Astoria, for her flaws, was reasonable.

To his right Harry could see the unpleasant look on Narcissa's face as she gave her husband a subtle glance.

He could hear the venom in Lucius's voice as Robert Greengrass poured another drink. "Yes." Lucius said with an annoyed drawl as Harry took a moment to inch closer, till he could smell the older man's cologne. "For all his natural ability, Potter never put any real effort into quidditch."

He couldn't argue with that, he thought to himself as he removed the stopper from the vial, dumping half the contents into Lucius's cognac before backing away. Between Voldemort, basilisks, the ministry, and leading a civil war, he hadn't had time for quidditch. Had Lucius and his master not worked so hard to upend the world, he would've grown up with his parents, a quidditch pitch in his backyard.

Astoria's father took another generous sip of wine, finishing half the glass in one go.

Narcissa shot her husband another glare and Harry could see the annoyance on Lucius Malfoy's face as he snuck past Scorpius before dumping the rest of the draught of rage into Robert Greengrass's wine.

Lucius twirled the cognac in his glass for a moment before taking a polite sip.

Harry smiled; the man was already enraged; the draught would elevate those feelings, he was sure.

Greengrass finished his wine before reaching for the bottle once more. "Don't you think you've had enough?"

It was Narcissa who had spoken.

_Interesting. _

Ignoring Narcissa completely, a dour Robert Greengrass turned to Lucius. "You let your wife speak to a _**Lord **_of the Wizengamot, and a guest in your home that way, _**Lord Malfoy**_."

Lucius balled his fists in anger and for the briefest of moments he thought the older man was going to go for his wand when he appeared to calm himself momentarily.

"This is our home, Lord Greengrass." Lucius said. The sarcastic tone to his voice had Robert Greengrass shaking in rage, the drunker man obviously had less control than the old war criminal. "Just because you treat your wife like a common elf doesn't mean we all do." He spat. "Apologize to Lady Malfoy." The demand of an apology seemed out of characteristic but made him smile. The draught was working.

Robert Greengrass pushed his chair from the table and stood up abruptly, wand drawn while Lucius followed suit.

Narcissa, for her part, had positioned herself in front of Scorpius – who was watching the display with wide eyes – protectively.

Instead of apologizing, the drunk man spun violently on his hips till his wand was placed on Narcissa. Causing Lucius's eyes to go wide. "Avada Kedavra!"

Green light erupted from his wand, striking the unexpecting woman dead in the chest, her lifeless body collapsing into her grandson's lap.

Lucius let out an enraged yell, launching himself at Robert Greengrass violently, knocking the larger man to the ground, they began to wrestle until the larger man found himself on top of Lucius, swinging his fists aggressively, crushing the man's face with his meaty hands.

"Stop it! Stop it!" Scorpius sobbed as he launched himself at his grandfather only to be swatted away like a fly.

In the brief moment it took Greengrass to smack his grandson to the ground, Lucius stabbed him in the abdomen with a steak knife, causing Robert to howl into the night sky.

Seizing on his momentum, Lucius stabbed the man several more times in his neck and chest at a frenzied pace, sending blood flying into his white-blond hair till Greengrass was long past dead.

As Malfoy began to settle down Harry stunned Scorpius before revealing himself to Lucius.

Eyes wide, Harry didn't give him a moment to speak. Nobody would miss this man. "Astoria Malfoy sends her love." He said with a satisfied smirk before ending the man's life.

He took a moment to beat the still-warm Malfoy with his fists, making sure to cause internal bleeding. The auror's wouldn't dig too deeply into it, he was certain.

Turning to the unconscious three-year-old, Harry quickly modified his memory before waking him and apparating away, leaving the three-year-old as the only witness to a gruesome crime.

* * *

She watched as the petty Elder trotted off the stage in barely concealed joy at having just eulogized Elder Monclair, and for a moment, the immaculate cemetery was peaceful.

A veela she had never seen, donned in silver and white robes that shimmered in the warm spring sun, giving the spiritual advisor an ethereal appearance, was the next to address the large crowd.

"Next we will hear from Elder Delacour – "hushed whispers, some excited some surprised, echoed throughout the cemetery as an appropriately dressed Gabrielle Delacour strutted to the dais confidently, her hair pulled back into an uncharacteristically tight bun. Parvati assumed it was to detract from the woman's obvious beauty. If the announcement was anything to go by the newly minted Elder Delacour was about to use her recently murdered mentor's funeral for personal gain. The balls on that woman.

"My third year at Beauxbatons my Great Aunt Annette paid a surprise visit to the school and found me crying in the lavatory."

She listened idly, but let her blue eyes wander over the crowd, settling on a nervous-looking Astoria Malfoy, who was shooting not-so-subtle glances at Harry several rows down.

_Interesting. _She wondered what that could be about? With any other wizard Parvati would expect a torrid affair. A scenario that didn't seem to fit Harry's character.

So, what was it? Some secret, undoubtedly. But what exactly?

Her attention fell back on Gabrielle and the little speech that seemed to have everyone on the edge of their seat.

"She told me that in life it was inevitable that people were going to dislike you for a whole bunch of reasons, some we can control, some we cannot. What we can control, Elder Monclair said, was how others perceive us, both as individuals and as a species. We control this perception not only by how we respond to adversity, but by the actions we take as individuals every day to better ourselves."

Predictable. Boring. Cliched.

Yet it was working. Parvati couldn't deny that.

Victoire was the real star of the show. Standing calmly next to her aunt, her face wearing a pained expression. She looked strong but vulnerable, as though what was expected of her was clashing violently with the reality that she just lost her dear great aunt Annette Monclair. A mythical figure in her young life.

Victoire had only known peace and was getting her first harsh lesson in reality: everyone dies, especially the goddesses of our youth.

Someday she would look back on this moment with bitter fondness. These are the moments that would forge Victoire into the woman she would become.

Honorable historians would never admit to it, but Parvati Patil's willingness to push the Veela to their breaking point was what would ultimately be responsible for the rise of Victoire Weasley. That would be her contribution to history.

Her eyes fell back to the girl with auburn hair and a perfect bone structure. What a magnificent young woman she would become. Parvati allowed her thoughts to drift to what Victoire would look like in five years, how beautiful she would be. She couldn't wait.

All the while Gabrielle yammered on with her poorly designed powerplay. "She became the first Veela to obtain Mastery's in three subjects; charms, defense, and legal studies. All of which she obtained as the first Veela to attend one of Europe's three elite institutions at Beauxbatons where she later taught both defense and Veela Studies. Today Beauxbatons educates thirty-two Veela while Hogwarts will welcome their first Veela, her Great Grandniece Victoire, into their coveted pre year one program this fall."

Parvati beamed at the girl adoringly as she stood proudly, a calm grace evident through her veil. She wondered what it would be like to raise such a girl as her own. Biscuits and tea at the Langham after Victoire's recital, perhaps? She smiled at the thought. What a treat it will be.

"When we were attacked the other day, we were trying to do just that." Elder Delacour's voice was sad and full of emotion. Parvati felt it was the first honest moment the veela had the entire speech.

Victoire seemed to agree as she grabbed her aunt's hand lovingly.

Her Victoire was so sweet.

Having found the perfect ending to her little trip, Parvati smiled, her red hair dancing in the wind she slipped away unnoticed.

* * *

He arrived at Gabrielle's silently a moment later.

"Wingardium Leviosa!" He heard Victoire say calmly from the kitchen. It was an unusual thing to hear, an immature voice casting magic in such a precise, well-practiced tone.

"Very good." Astoria praised.

To Victoire the older woman must have sounded perfectly calm, but Harry could hear the slight strain in her voice. She was nervous.

He retreated into Gabrielle's den, making a beeline for the bar cart he barely hesitated before grabbing the Blanton's, choosing the slightly stronger American single barrel over Gabrielle's preferred scotch.

Pouring himself a glass he drank it in one before going for a refill.

He sighed as he looked out the large bay windows out to the green of Memorial Park. Harry loved this view, especially at this time of night as the setting sun cast shadows out over the lush park. This would be the only peace he'd have till after the funeral.

Checking the time, he groaned. French auror's would be here within the hour and he had to coach Astoria.

Finishing the bourbon, he felt himself relax. He'd made the world a better place tonight.

Making his way into the kitchen, he felt a slight sting to his left thigh followed by an excited whoop. "I got you! I got you! I got you!" His niece cried happily as she danced around the kitchen, much to Astoria's chagrin. "Now pay up!" Victoire demanded as she held out her palm.

Damn. He'd promised her one hundred galleons if she ever landed a spell on him. He figured he'd have longer than eight months.

He smiled adoringly at her before engulfing her in a hug. "I'll pay you tomorrow, how's that?"

She stared at him intensely for a long moment before nodding slowly. "You have twenty-four hours, Potter!" She barked menacingly before breaking down in a fit of giggles.

Harry ruffled her hair. "Say good night to your Aunt Astoria, it's time we got you home." From behind her Astoria looked touched.

Good. He needed her to feel like part of the family. This whole plan relied on her ability to follow orders.

They watched silently as Victoire disappeared into the floo.

"She's a joy to teach, as I'm sure you know." Astoria said, breaking the silence.

"She is." He replied, turning to face her.

They sat quietly for a polite moment. "Where's my son?"

"Perfectly safe. It all went according to plan." He summoned the Blanton's and two glasses from the other room, pouring them each a glass. "Take this." He said, handing her a calming draught and a glass.

"WHERE'S MY SON!" She cried hysterically; patience gone.

"Bloody hell." He replied. "He's fine. In order to make the whole thing convincing I needed to modify his memory and place him under the imperius temporarily."

"YOU DID WHAT?!" Astoria was enraged and he was getting sick of her shit. They didn't have time for this bullshit. "Only to tell him to wait a half hour and call the auror's and let them know where to find you." He roared. "Or, I could have let them all live, and your son would grow up a purist cunt who was raised by a war criminal. That was the other option. You came to me, remember that."

He saw her worried eyes work and suddenly he felt empathy for her. Astoria's world had been shattered and tonight she had to order the death of her own father.

And he'd just yelled at her.

Taking a calming breath, Harry walked over and enveloped the smaller woman in a hug. "It's tough, I know."

He felt her collapse into him and sob.

"Please take the calming draught so I can explain what happens next."

She wiped her eyes before downing the potion and visibly relaxing. A few flicks of her wrist later and Astoria Malfoy looked as composed as ever.

"Thank you." Her voice oozed sincerity.

"When the French auror's arrive, you tell them that you discharged yourself from the hospital today and made plans to pick up Scorpius in the morning after you'd gotten some rest."

He could see the wheels spinning in her mind. "Why here? Why not Malfoy Manor?"

A valid question. "You were just attacked in your home and wanted to stay with a friend for the time being. You're both going through tough times, so it makes sense that you're there for each other." He would have to fill Gabrielle in later.

"What about Victoire?"

"They won't question her. They have no reason to suspect she was ever here, if they do request to question her, it will be highly formal and after we've coached her. Hermione, Bill, and Fleur would be in the room. But that won't happen."

He was glad she had calmed down but needed her to drink a bit otherwise her attitude may raise a flag. "Please drink a glass or two of that, I need you to have a faint smell of alcohol on your breath. It's understandable that you would have a few drinks, all things considered."

She nodded, finishing her glass in one before pouring them both another.

"How much time do we have?" She asked.

He checked his watch. "Twenty minutes or so."

She accepted that with an undignified grunt and they fell into a content silence across from one another at Gabrielle's rectangular, mahogany dinner table.

"What's your plan with Gabrielle?" Astoria asked bluntly, a perfectly manicured, brown eyebrow raised to her hairline.

He groaned internally. He'd never had to deal with the inquisitive female friend; Ginny had always gotten along better with the guys, the result of growing up with six brothers, while Gabrielle didn't appear to have any other friends. Admirers, but not friends.

He played ignorant. "To fill her in on this conversation later."

Slouched in her chair, Astoria rolled her pretty hazel eyes. "Don't be obtuse, you dick."

He'd never seen Astoria so casual and rather liked it. It was easy to forget that the widowed mother across from him was only twenty-six. The cold socialite didn't seem appropriate for someone her age. This was normal. This was good.

Harry smiled, deciding to play along. "To continue to date her."

"Are you going to marry her?"

"It's been eight months." He deadpanned.

She shrugged, taking another sip of bourbon without the slightest trace of a grimace. "I was married after six months of dating Draco."

"Arranged?" He'd always wondered. It was terribly impolite to ask but given the circumstances he felt it wasn't entirely inappropriate.

She paused to stare off at some spot on the wall. "Not entirely." She confessed. "Neither of our parents were willing to go that far, but it was a smart match and highly encouraged. Genetically speaking there would be no questionable inbreeding while allowing the lines to be pure. If Draco hadn't liked either me or Daphne nothing would have happened."

"What if you hadn't liked him?"

She shrugged. "Then I would have been unhappy."

They fell into a silence and he felt uncomfortable having just heard something so personal. This was a quid pro quo situation, right?

"I love her very much." He said quietly, as if to himself. He wasn't good with emotion. The entire idea of expressing himself had been summarily forbidden in the Dursley household and he'd never quite gotten used to the idea, a tragedy time hadn't been able to undo. He hadn't been this open with Ron or Miles. "Though there's a part of me that wonders if she's using me for the case, or to advance her cause."

It was a legitimate fear. He didn't understand her reasoning for liking him. Aside from his professional resume he had very little to offer her.

A moment passed and nobody spoke.

"You of all people." She chuckled. "Scared because somebody loves him." She faced him, her eyes soft and an assured look on her face. "But at some point, your brooding stops being cute and becomes pitiful. You have the world, Harry. You just have to take it."

"My brooding is pitiful, but Draco's was endearing?"

"Draco's was understandable. Mine was understandable. You're a hero. What problems do you have?"

"Who are you to judge? Even heroes have problems."

They fell silent again.

"For what it's worth, she feels the same way about you."

Gabrielle had never had an issue expressing herself to him, he knew how she felt. But her echoing those thoughts to Astoria made it feel more real, more reassuring. He smiled.

"Thank you."

The fire went green and three figures, two in powder blue robes and one child, emerged.

"Mum!" A missile of blond slammed into Astoria's chest, causing the woman to grimace in pain.

"Madam Malfoy." A fair-skinned female auror with honey-blonde hair said politely.

Astoria seemed to freeze momentarily. "What's going on?" He said to cover for her. "Astoria? I thought Scorpius was with his grandparents?"

The wizard with a swimmer's body gave them a sad smile before glancing first at Scorpius, then at him.

Harry took the hint. "Hey Scorpius!" The child who looked so much like his father looked at him dumbly, a face Draco had perfected during his life. "Ambassador Delacour has some Swiss chocolate in her study." The boy's eyes lit up and he spared a glance at Astoria. She smiled. "Go with your Uncle Harry, Scorpius while I have a talk with the nice auror's.

As they left the room, Harry dropped a listening charm on the table before making his way to the den with the most unlikely companion he could imagine. How would Draco feel right now? What would he say?

Harry was certain his old rival would have lost no sleep over Lucius and Robert, Narcissa, however, was his beloved mother.

"Do you like hazelnut?" He asked, breaking off a piece of milk chocolate and hazelnut before handing it to the boy.

Scorpius examined the square wearily for a moment before shoving it into his mouth. The boy's eyes went wide as he chewed, and Harry handed him the rest of the bar.

"My father had reached out to me to let me know he had taken Scorpius to see Lord and Lady Malfoy at their vineyard…"

Harry chanced a look down the hallway.

The young woman had her arm on Astoria's as if providing support in a difficult time while the man sat on Gabrielle's countertop casually in an unprofessional manner. They knew what happened at the vineyard, they were just wrapping up the case. Nobody was going to miss dear old Lucius.

"We are so sorry for your loss." The sympathetic voice of the woman said as the auror's made their way back to the floo sometime later. "Thank you." Astoria said. He was a bit surprised at how good of an actress she was. "If you need anything else from me please let me know."

"That went well." He said as she entered the den a moment later.

"Thank you, Harry." She said with more sincerity than was really necessary. "Don't mention it." He said seriously. "Ever again."

* * *

She took a sip of her pinot noir, enjoying a moment of quiet as she looked out over the English Channel.

"That entire outfit makes you look ridiculous." Aiden's Dallas drawl disrupted her moment of tranquility.

With a sigh Parvati removed her oversized black sunglasses but kept the cream bucket hat in place. She gave him a bewildered look. "But it's sundress season!" She said as though she expected him to understand.

Aiden groaned and sat down at the small patio table. "You went to the funeral." It was a statement not a question.

"Reconnaissance, my dear." She said, crossing the distance between them and planting a chaste kiss on his sunburned cheek.

He grabbed her throat and squeezed, squishing her larynx as she gasped for air. His hand still attached to her throat, he stood up out of his chair, lifting her from the ground, Parvati struggled to breath as she felt her consciousness wean and her legs begin to twitch involuntarily.

He threw her to the ground violently, but Parvati immediately found her feet. "Kinky." She said, her voice coming out dry and raspy. A far cry from the seductive sultriness she was used to.

Aiden had a strong grip. Normally she liked that.

He closed his eyes and took several deep breaths. "I'm sorry." He said with a hint of remorse. "I didn't mean to hurt you."

"Yes, you did." She stated, her voice still raspy.

They let the topic drop as she calmly sat back down across from him.

The wine burned its way down her throat, but she didn't let him see her pain. He should treat her better. She could hurt him.

"Meadows let Harry get away."

Parvati furrowed her brow. "Traitor."

Aiden smiled. "Perhaps…"

She hated this; this game Aiden played where he required her to satisfy his every whim before divulging with even the slightest bit of useful information.

She scoffed internally; the man was a narcissistic, homicidal sociopath obsessed with a man he could never become.

"You think differently?" She forced a bit of wonder in her voice, as if the trained chimp across from her could do anything but kill.

Silently he reached into his pocket and removed a small vial of dark red.

Her eyes widened. "You got his blood." The awe in her voice was real. She was suitably impressed, maybe Parvati had been wrong. "Have you negotiated our fee with Gringotts?"

He waved his hand dismissively. "I will. Once the threat is neutralized."

She threw her head back in mocking laughter. "And you say I'm obsessed with Victoire?" She cackled once more. "You're never going to best Harry, my dear. Best to run to the goblins before my old friend guts you!" She wasn't sure why she was mocking the violent man, but she was. He was nothing but deadbeat Harry. His ego would cost them millions of galleons.

A meaty fist connected with her jaw, she felt the bone crack as she fell to the ground, teeth dislodged and the taste of coppery blood filling her mouth.

Parvati's laugh sounded more like a gurgle as she spit a gob of blood his way, filling Aiden's face with blood and shards of tooth.

Dragon skin boot found her ribs, knocking Parvati back on all fours to the ground. She felt him grab her hair as he slammed her head on the limestone patio before Aiden mounted her and she heard the tell-tale sound of a man unbuckling his belt from behind her.

Aiden pulled her hair back till her neck was bending at an unnatural position and she was looking directly into her eyes. Then he ripped away her light blue sundress, exposing her naked waist to nature.

He slammed her head into the ground as he thrust himself inside her painfully. The burning sensation nearly causing her to wince.

Parvati laughed. "Such a big man!" She tried to coo but it only came out as a gurgled whimper through her broken jaw.

She could feel the warmth of Aiden's breath on her ear as he violated her, the smell of his post lunch cigarette still on the younger man's breath.

"YOU –"

She felt something tear within her but refused to make a sound.

"DON'T – "

She felt a glob of hair rip from her scalp.

"GET – "

He was already done but continued his assault.

"TO- "

He thrust again but the moment had passed, causing her to laugh maniacally at the situation. He couldn't even control himself when he took what he wanted. No wonder he couldn't control anyone else.

His fist found her face several more times before he stepped away, leaving her bloody and violated on the patio.

"You don't get to talk to me that way." Her attacker said casually between deep breaths, as if he hadn't just raped her.

She didn't respond as he walked away, shock and pain finally setting in.

He was gone.

Parvati chuckled softly to herself before picking herself up off the ground slowly, doing her best not to show any outward signs of discomfort.

She could still feel him inside her as she waddled to Smith's dusty study before finding a quill and a piece of parchment.

_My Dearest Harry,_

* * *

"Honestly, Ron. You bitch about how we're wasting our evening in New York at a play and your solution is to take us to a British themed pub?"

"It makes me feel at home, 'Mione." Ron quipped as they waited for the bartender to grab their drinks. The pleasant bickering of Harry's oldest friends had almost become comforting to her over the last several months. When she'd confessed as much to Harry, her boyfriend snickered, leaving him to point out bickering couples ever since.

Harry's elbow gently tapped Gabrielle's bicep drawing her attention to the faded lightning bolt scar on his forehead. He waggled his eyebrows and glanced at their friends. "Relaxed yet?"

She smiled pleasantly. Gabrielle adored these evenings away from it all. "We're getting there." She said with an exaggerated sigh.

Harry frowned before smiling mischievously. Turning his attention to the brewing argument, Harry interceded. "Ya know, Hermione, you were the one who suggested Ron pick where to go next."

She stifled her laughter with a sip of Eagle Rare 17. Despite the British theme, Harry wouldn't let her order scotch, not in Manhattan.

Hermione rounded on Harry, right eye bulging, her nose scrunched – a look Gabrielle had learned was uniquely Harry's, the type of psychological tick that developed over decades when a particular annoyance was brought up.

She craved a friendship like that.

"Yes, but I was thinking Vanguard's or Ardesia; not _**Churchill's**_."

The two couples sat on black lacquered stools left-of-center of the bar on the lower level. In front of them neatly ordered whiteboards covered in white chalk listed the beers the tavern had on tap, while the dim lights illuminated the taverns impressive scotch and liquor collection, which sat in front of a mirror to make it all-the-more-impressive to the intoxicated.

The walls were adorned with pictures of the famed muggle Prime Minister, many of which showed him with his trademark cigar held loosely in his mouth. Around them muggles from around the world socialized over pints of beer and fish and chips.

Gabrielle found the entire place to be an exceptional representation of muggle London; but is that really what they wanted on a night out in New York?

Harry laughed at Hermione's comment. "You expected Ron to choose a _**wine **_bar?"

All three of them laughed while Hermione blushed.

"Hermione's right, Ron." She said, deciding to save the older woman. "We can go to a pub in London tomorrow, if you'd like."

The man gave her a betrayed look, but she just smiled in his wife's direction.

From her left she saw Harry paying the tab. "Besides, if we're going to smoke these – "she said, producing three cigars "- we're going to need to find a rooftop."

It was Hermione's turn to look betrayed, but she didn't say anything as they left the tavern.

**1111**

They were right to let Hermione pick their next destination. If they were going to smoke cigars somewhere it may as well have the best views in the city.

"The Roof" at the Public Hotel on Manhattan's Lower East Side offered three hundred- and sixty-degree panoramic views of the city; at sunset the light reflecting off the skyscrapers painted the urban jungle below in a cascade of color. They also made one hell of a dry martini, she thought to herself as she puffed her cigar.

"Great recommendation, Hermione." Harry's compliment was met with a smile. The intimate rooftop bar was well light, even at midnight, as classical music played pleasantly in the background. Surrounding them on the rooftop was a series of wooden outdoor couches with cream cushions, wooden tables with white candles, and a lush green garden with a variety of pastel colored flowers. It made Gabrielle feel as though she were in an intimate garden somewhere private, even as she marveled at the iconic lighting of the Empire State building off in the distance.

"It's wonderful, 'Mione." Ron mumbled as he puffed his cigar.

The lighting illuminated her rings of smoke as Gabrielle puffed away, enjoying the bold, slightly fruity flavor and the accompanying buzz that presented itself when she'd break the rules and inhale a puff every now-and-again. She was so fortunate for this moment.

Ron and Harry drifted off into casual conversation leaving her and Hermione in compatible silence.

"I don't know how you can enjoy those." Hermione's tone was less judgmental than her words. She hadn't meant offense, but Gabrielle could easily see how some could become offended. For all her intelligence, Hermione Weasley lacked social skills.

"I've spent most of my career forging relationships with powerful men." She said, pausing for a deep inhale. Too deep. She nearly chocked and she could feel a slight uneasiness in her stomach creeping up.

She squashed it.

"You develop a taste for fine liquor and a good cigar."

The older woman smiled, to Gabrielle it looked out of place on her face. The two had never been particularly close, though that was more out of differing personalities than lack of respect. Most of their interactions had come in a professional capacity.

Professionally speaking, Hermione was an enigma; a socialist championing more taxes and social reform who also charged a higher retainer than any firm in Britain. A woman who riled up a worker's revolution, flooding the Wizengamot with young reformers who worshipped at her alter – all from the comfort of her million galleon home in Chelsea.

Or her four million galleon home on Lake Cuomo. Or the five million galleon home in the Swiss Alps.

Even now Hermione's Laurent Ferrier with its red-gold case and white enamel Grand Feu dial glistened marvelously in the candlelight. It paired well with her eight hundred galleon black cocktail dress. A gaudy display when the average wizard in Britain took home ten thousand galleons per year.

Gabrielle wasn't judging, per se, but there seemed to be a bit of hypocrisy in her words. She didn't think it was on purpose – her firm did plenty of pro bono work and always got results. She was heavily involved in charity, and, unlike her husband – the industrialist – never complained about taxes. Still, she found it odd that a Hogwarts graduate who wanted to send her children to Hogwarts would work so hard to dilute the quality of the school's education through silly reforms and requirements? Or a woman who spoke out against greed had three homes?

They fell into another silence. "We have the votes in the ICW, how are things on your end?" Hermione was blunt and to the point. She never minced words or played games. There was something seriously refreshing about that. "I am still Ambassador Delacour, being an Elder as well only gives me a larger, more credible stage."

Hermione took a sip of her wine to gather her thoughts. "What about Elder Louise?"

The vindictive veela would present a problem if she wasn't so old. The Zekanot did not want her as their mouthpiece. "She is part of a dwindling minority and will not present any issues. I have the spotlight, that's the uncomfortable truth they don't want to admit."

Hermione smiled viciously. "I admire your callousness."

Hermione's kindness was partially an act, she'd always suspected. A woman that smart, that ambitious didn't get this far in life by being kind and giving a shit about _**everyone**_. "My duty is to the Veela. All the Veela. Not just the hens clutching to a dying way of life."

"Would you ladies like another drink?" Ron butted in. She checked her watch. It was barely a quarter after one. "Grab us a bottle of Glenlivet, would ya, love?" She said in her best British accent, eliciting a laugh from the other three.

Ron marched off before Harry, realizing he was left alone with her and Hermione, frowned and ran after Ron. "Oi, mate. Don't leave me alone with these two!"

She laughed and her attention fell back to the woman in a conservative black cocktail dress and loose hanging brown hair that stretched just past her shoulders, in front of her. Hermione wasn't a great physical beauty, but she wasn't ugly either; her frightening intelligence and darker-than-expected sense of humor were two of her more endearing qualities, in Gabrielle's opinion.

They sat comfortably for several moments, Hermione's eyes on the boys as they talked to a random couple at the bar.

"How's it going between you two?" Hermione's voice seemed uncertain, as though she wasn't sure if this was a topic she should be broaching.

"We're doing great." She was being honest They exited the honeymoon phase months ago and now found themselves humming along smoothly. "It's comfortable, easy. Ya know?" Gabrielle could feel the effects of the alcohol on her mood. She was good and drunk. She was certain if she saw a reflection of herself her cheeks would be flushed and her eyes slightly droopy, a drunk grin on her lips.

"Huh." Hermione's non-response had her uncomfortable. Had she heard different?

"What's that mean?"

"Harry describes you as the best thing to ever happen to him and you say life is comfortable." She shrugged and her heart sank. That wasn't what she meant. "It just seems like he's more into you than you're into him. If life is just 'easy' and 'comfortable' then break it off now, before you do any more damage." There was a harshness to Hermione's voice that seemed foreign. It was protective and full of warning. Hermione was one of the few women who could legitimately make life difficult on her, should she want to.

"That's not what I meant." Was it a poor choice of words on her part, or was Hermione just being a bitch? "Life's not easy on its own. There are days it's hard to find the energy to do the things that need to be done, or times I doubt myself, or need someone to vent to. With Harry, it's easy. He's there to push and support me, there to listen. It's nice."

Hermione softened then smiled. "Good."

The boys returned not long after and soon enough she found herself dancing; first with Harry, then with Ron, then with some random guy with a cute accent, the night falling into a drunken blur.

"Do you need help, mate?" The seemingly far off voice of Ron Weasley echoed in her subconsciousness some time later.

She was resting in Harry's arms as they approached a fireplace. "Naw, mate. It's fine – "then his voice seemed to drop into a loud whisper – "I have to do this two or three times a week."

Three sets of laughter coursed through the dark room. "Fug off 'Arry." She slurred, her French accent making a presence.

"Would you mind if I go first though? Just in case?"

"Of course, Harry." Hermione's voice sounded amused. "Good luck."

* * *

She watched adoringly through a pair of muggle binoculars as an excited Victoire and her Uncle George exited Indiana Jones et le Temple du Péril. It was a Tuesday afternoon, and the uncle and his niece had been at the park since it opened that morning.

Making her way to the photo center gingerly, Parvati paused in front of a display showing two red heads making funny faces at the camera as the roller coaster dropped.

"I think this one's a keeper, Vikki! What about you?" The jovial voice of George Weasley disrupted her thoughts. "Absolutely!"

Victoire's voice was musical, the look of satisfaction on her face: beautiful.

She couldn't help it.

"You have a lovely daughter." She said, grabbing George's attention.

Every Tuesday Victoire and her Uncle George would do something fun, and distinctly muggle.

"Thank you." George said graciously, not bothering to correct the obvious mistake.

Fred had been magnificent, business savvy, and brave. George was none of those things. George was pathetic. The wrong twin died that day.

She watched Victoire, in her cute mouse ears and stylish sundress, drag her uncle towards the churro stand.

A small smile slid over Parvati's face. She couldn't wait for next Tuesday.

* * *

"Elder Delacour." The melodic voice of Adriana caused her to stop reading for a brief moment. "Elder Louise is here to see you."

After the murder of Annette, Gabrielle had been gifted her unofficial office at Sonya's Tea Room; though until now she hadn't managed to bring herself to visit Bucharest.

"Thank you, Adriana." The pretty Romanian witch smiled softly before turning to leave. "Oh, and Adriana?" The seventeen-year glanced over her right shoulder, and in that moment, Gabrielle understood why her mother's tearoom in Calea Victoriei was filled with so many young men. "Your English is progressing nicely." Pretty dimples highlighted a perfect set of teeth, she did not envy Ariana's father.

The older veela entered the room, a slightly annoyed look on her wrinkled face. "Ambassador Delacour." Elder Louise greeted, dismissing her preferred title. "Louise," she started, repaying the favor, "please sit."

They sat in cold silence for a long moment. Gabrielle supposed the older veela was waiting for her to offer her some tea, or a glass of wine.

That would not be happening.

"Why are you interrupting my Thursday?" She was blunt and to the point with Louise. They didn't need to tolerate each other in private, and they both knew she wouldn't be here unless she thought she had to be. Elder Louise did not approve of Sonya's, she didn't approve of much anything, really.

"The Elder Council is concerned with your actions on behalf of the whole, of late."

She frowned. The Council appointed her as Ambassador based on her vision for the future. The Zekanot and the Council approved her ascension. "No, it's not." Gabrielle said calmly. "You and Elder's Rizzo and Mariucci are the ones with the issue." She was being flippant but couldn't bring herself to care. How many times had one of those three been an anonymous source to the press? "The other nine Elders have backed this vision for the last five years. The Council is a meritocracy, Elder Louise." Gabrielle's voice was sweet and her smile wide. "And I am a Veela of action."

To her surprise the wrinkled hen smiled pleasantly.

_Interesting. _

"I heard about the tragedy in Bordeaux the other evening." Louise had stood up and was helping herself to a decanter of merlot. "How's Lady Malfoy holding up?"

Did she know something? Or was she just fishing?

Her body language was calm, and a small smirk was tugging at her lips.

She knew something. Or at least she thought she did.

"She's doing well." Gabrielle didn't elaborate. Her friend and Scorpius were taking holiday halfway around the globe in Lanai.

"I spoke to the auror's who conducted the investigation."

Gabrielle had been filled in and she had read the report herself. There was nothing remotely suspicious about it. "And it differs slightly from what I was told by Councilwoman Sinclair's daughter.

She meant Caroline Sinclair, an accountant who served in the Zekanot, one of Gabrielle's own allies. Her daughter worked reception at the hospital.

"She says that Lady Malfoy stepped _**through **_the floo after calling out the address to the vineyard."

"She was mistaken." Harry would have to be informed and a few memories would need to be modified.

Louise shrugged. "I think we both know that's not true."

"Astoria was at my home with my niece at the time of the crimes."

Louise sipped her merlot, that damn smile never leaving her lips. "I don't doubt that. That weak child doesn't have the ability to orchestrate a murder that sophisticated. But your lover does."

"An interesting theory." What did she know?

"My daughter saw the four of you outside the hospital talking, you know. You, Lady Malfoy, Potter, and little Victoire. Did you use her in your sick power games?" The question was rhetorical, and Gabrielle wasn't given a moment to respond. "Of course, you did."

Louise waited for an explanation that she wasn't going to give.

Annoyed, the old veela smirked viscously. "I think Potter murdered them all at your request." Gabrielle remained seated, a single, perfectly plucked eyebrow raised. "Now why would I do that?"

Louise knew shit.

"You vote three ancient houses in the Wizengamot – "Gabrielle cut her off. "Four. Lady Greengrass is not a politician and has asked me to vote on her behalf."

Louise beamed. "Perfect motive to have them killed."

"You're delusional. Elder Louise."

"You're sociopathic!" She screamed back.

Gabrielle relaxed. "I had nothing to do with their deaths. While I'm certainly not losing sleep, what happened was a crime committed by Lucius Malfoy and Robert Greengrass, two monstrous individuals that nobody, not even their grandson, will miss."

"I don't believe you."

"Of course, you don't. You interrupted my work because you had already made up your mind. We are Elders of the Zekanot." Gabrielle said, her voice oozing disappointment. "And you interrupt my review of Q4 funding for petty schoolyard rumors? Grow up, Louise."

"I'm going to go to the papers."

"With what? A rumor?" Gabrielle laughed openly. "Your working theory is that, even though I already had secured enough votes to give our species equality, both in Britain and on the International stage, I ordered a high-profile murder to secure one more vote? You're insane!"

It was Astoria who had ordered the murders, not her. And it was to protect three votes, not one.

"Goodbye, Louise." Gabrielle said dismissively, her eyes falling back to the parchment in front of her. She didn't have time for this bullshit.

* * *

_My Dearest Harry,_

_I hope this letter finds you well. Recent events have had me reconsidering my previous opinion of our date, and I want to apologize for all the resentment I've held towards you for that night. It could have been special. You were supposed to be my first, you know._

_I enjoyed Elder Delacour's speech at her great aunt's funeral the other day. I found it both engaging and touching, do you not agree? Lady Malfoy sure didn't, she could barely focus the entire time, you should have seen the looks she was giving you! Between _the _two of us, how is she? Lav says her tongue works wonders, but she's easily pleased. What do you think? How does she compare to Gabrielle?_

_I recently had lunch with an old friend of yours, and you'll never believe what Aiden had to show me? I'll give you a hint: he's about to become a friend to the Goblins._

_Can I tell you a secret? _

_Aiden Park can be found at Fifteen Ayre Road, Orkney Islands._

_Love, _

_Parvati Patil_

He'd nearly apparated away immediately after the first reading but paused to read the letter again.

Meadows must have taken his blood while he was knocked out.

What was Aiden's plan? Did he really want his gold? Harry didn't think so. So, what was Aiden's plan?

_To kill you. _

For most the notions of killing Harry Potter was a delusional fantasy, but not Aiden, Aiden was familiar with his style and had the talent.

So why did he have Harry's blood? _To draw you into a trap. _

How uninspiring.

Harry took another calming breath and reread the letter for a third time.

"_Can I tell you a secret?"_

He'd nearly missed the implication in the first readings, but not now. Parvati was Aiden's secret keeper, and she was divulging that secret to him.

They must have had a falling out.

Harry smiled, the outline of a plan beginning to take form in his head.

* * *

She watched George Weasley spin around the go-kart track in chase of his niece with a maniacal grin on his pale face. "I'm going to catch ya, Vikki!"

A frown graced Parvati's face. George befuddled the muggle at the counter so that Victoire would be allowed to drive. She found the entire afternoon to be completely irresponsible, did Fleur even know what her daughter was up to? Did she care?

She watched in worry as George's kart tapped the back-left-wheel of Victoire's, sending the young girls cart spinning into the row of black rubber tires that outlined the track. "UNCLE GEORGE!" Victoire, thankfully, sounded as though she were okay. "YOU CHEATED!"

Victoire needed more stable parenting, it was clear she wasn't getting it at home.

The two were still bickering light-heartedly fifteen minutes later as they made their way over to the food truck she was working at.

"Two corn dogs, two cokes, and two bags of sour cream and onion chips, please!" George's voice was jovial and unconcerned while Victoire appeared to be watching a group of muggle children down the road in fascination.

"Ten euro's even." She said, the gruff voice of the man she was impersonating sounded unnatural to her ears.

George handed her the note and she nodded. "One second."

Walking just out of view, Parvati removed her wand and cast several muggle repelling and notice-me-not charms on the area to give her a little privacy.

She went through the motions of complying, handing George their drinks and their chips without another word. "It'll be just a minute on the corndogs."

George smiled, putting his change in the tip cup before turning towards Victoire and away from her.

Parvati felt the adrenaline within her start to kick-in. She had been waiting for this for weeks.

_Stupefy. _She thought, hitting Victoire square in the chest and drawing George's attention towards her.

It would have been smarter to neutralize George first, the older man, weak as he may be, was still the bigger threat but it would've been unnecessary to subject Victoire to such violence at this stage in her life.

George had his wand in his hand a half second later, but it was too late. "Avada Kedavra!" Parvati said gleefully, the deadly green light finding its mark.

Her objective complete, Parvati walked over to the unconscious form of Victoire Weasley.

Crouching till she was just above the beautiful girl, Parvati brushed a strand of loose, red hair from her face before allowing her lips to find Victoire's. She let the kiss linger for several seconds before turning to the dead body of George Weasley, knife in hand.

Tenderly she carved his forehead till a familiar lightning bolt took form.

She took out her new phone and snapped several pictures before emailing them to the editor of the Daily Prophet. The adrenaline was better than sex.

Twirling her wand in her fingers, Parvati pointed her new wand up towards the sky. "Morsmordre!" Voldemort's dark mark erupted from her wand, filling the south London sky.

Admiring her work for a moment, she grabbed the still-unconscious form of Victoire Weasley and disappeared with light pop.

* * *

**A/N: **I'm not sure anyone would notice if I didn't point it out, but Parvati stops referring to Victoire as a "veela" in this chapter and instead begins to refer to her as a "girl" or a "woman." This was done on-purpose and was not an oversight on my part.

**A/N2: **Gabrielle's observations on Hermione's politics is purposefully flawed and is not meant to be a personal political statement one way or the other. It's meant to represent how a character of Gabrielle's social standing could interpret Hermione.


	14. Chapter 14

**Disclaimer: **JKR owns HP, etc.

* * *

"Lighten up, would ya Potter?" Flint said, the light-hearted amusement in his voice seeming out of place with his normally boorish demeanor. "Marvolo is just saying hi."

He frowned at the name given to the domesticated red fox, one of at least a dozen that lived on the Flint estate, according to his intelligence.

Ezra Flint, Marcus's great, great, great grandfather, was credited with starting the family's fascination with the curious creatures. The scientist had been the first to hypothesize that by breeding against the character trait of aggression, the fox would evolve to show less aggressive traits over time. Leaving an intelligent, loyal companion in its wake.

Oddly enough it was a muggle born by the name of Dmitri Belyaev who confirmed that hypothesis.

The disgustingly named fox nuzzled tenderly against his master's leg before turning to give him one more sniff. The fox stood on his hind legs, white belly exposed as he did so before losing interest and moving along.

They walked through the square foyer into an open atrium with large square windows on three of the four sides, two of which were done in stained glass depicting the rise of the House of Flint.

The one furthest from Harry, however, gave view to a moderately sized garden that backed up into a large, dense forest.

Outside the wind howled in the rain, the sun blocked by the clouds, making it appear much later than half four in the afternoon.

Around them the dimly lit room illuminated a large battle axe hanging from the wall surrounded by several full suits of armor – a defense mechanism Flint could activate in case of intruders.

Harry held his holly and phoenix wand against Flint's back as the partially subdued man in front of him veered to the left and away from Lord Flints study. "Where are we going Flint?"

The former quidditch captain glanced over his right shoulder. "Looks like you made a friend, Potter!" Flint bellowed, ignoring his question as Marvolo dashed through his legs to nuzzle him tenderly as he walked.

"The family study sits behind the bookcase that's sandwiched between a pair of knights in full armor. We needed to take a right at the stained glass that depicts Jedidiah Flint standing over Hrungnir the Drunk after the Sacred Twenty-Eight drove the Giant Clans from what is now Ben Nevis."

Flint's eyes went cold at his casual description of where the study was located. The Flint family, like many ancient families, liked to keep the layout of their properties secret.

"Yes." Flint snapped, his beady eyes glaring at him as his thin lips turned into a scowl. "Do you think I'd keep my leverage out in the open?" His voice was filled with a mocking hatred, obviously his knowledge had lost Harry any goodwill he may have had with the troubled Lord. "I keep the ledger in the same place the Dark Lord kept Lovegood." After all this time Flint's tone held the same reverence for Voldemort as it had in their school days. Has humanity learned nothing from their mistakes?

They walked several meters in silence before Flint came to a stop in front of a blank wall. "Give me my wand." He demanded. "And remove my arm restraints."

"Absolutely not."

"A Flints magical signature must be used."

"I didn't bring your wand." Harry said calmly.

Flint didn't seem to believe him. "Yes, you did." He said bluntly. "This was always the most likely outcome. You're not stupid enough to have not prepared for it."

He was right.

He paused. Did he really want to give the former Death Eater a wand? In his own home?

Did he have a choice? This was the job.

He groaned and undid the binds forcing the larger man's hands to remain behind his back and handed him his ash wand, keeping his own holly wand trained on his back.

He watched as Flint shivered in pleasure as the familiar feeling of his magic greeted him, for the first time in weeks, like an old friend. "Get on with it, Flint." Harry demanded. Flint wasn't talented with a wand but even a blind squirrel finds nuts every once in a while.

"Fuck off Potter. You've taken everything from me, you'll allow me this small pleasure."

He waited impatiently for several long moments till Flint began tapping specific bricks.

_Second row from the top, third brick from the left._

_Bottom row, eighth brick from the right._

_Twelfth row, second brick from the right._

Harry continued to memorize the pattern till the bricks gave way to a tall archway leading down a dark, narrow hall.

'_Expelliarmus.' _Harry thought, Flint's wand landing in his outstretched left hand, leaving the Slytherin scowling. "Rude." Flint grumbled before leading the way.

Around them Harry could hear the scattering feet and occasional cries of foxes, one of which dared to nip at his ankles, drawing a small bit of blood.

He kicked the creature, causing it to cry out in pain.

Though it was dark, Harry could see the livid eyes of Marcus Flint. "You kick Kavax again, I'll kill you."

"If you could kill me-"Harry began, a mocking tone to his voice. "You would have done so by now, dipshit."

"This way." Flint barked, turning on his heel once more.

They walked for nearly a minute in silence before arriving at a battered wooden door. "After you, My Lord." Flint said with a condescending bow.

"No, I insist." He wasn't going to chance a trap.

Flint shrugged before twisting the slim, silver handle on the feeble door and walking through, the doorway glowing a blackish purple in recognition of its patriarch.

Before following his captive, Harry took a glance around the dark, narrow corridor wondering how a fox could have possibly snuck up on him from the side.

He crossed into the large, circular study and glanced around in suspicion.

In the center lay a plain black desk with a worn, black ledger as the desks only occupant.

Around them a dozen large suits of armor were positioned like terracotta around the room, equipped with axes and spears, they looked down upon them menacingly.

"Grab the ledger and let's go." He demanded.

For once the man stayed silent, nodding his head diligently before grabbing the ledger lovingly.

A smile on the older man's face, Flint turned towards the closest knight, spitting a gob of dark red blood into its face, causing the suits of armor to glow simultaneously, a victorious grin on their master's features.

_Shite. _

He felt a slight prickling in the back of his mind as the armor came alive and Harry found himself under attack from all sides as Flint snuck his way to the door.

'_Accio ledger.' _He thought, the book breaking free of Flint's desperate grip before making its way to Harry's outstretched hands.

The man looked at him conflicted before realizing the reality of his situation; without his wand it would be suicide to try and fight Harry one on one, even with the enchanted guards.

While Flint fled, Harry fell under attack from all sides; narrowly avoiding the jab of a spear aimed at his torso while an iron maul met his ribs with a loud crunch, causing the breath to retreat from his body as his ribs shattered.

Gritting his teeth, Harry began hurling bludgeoners in rapid succession, sending the armor crashing to the floor with loud clanks, only to stand back up unharmed moments later.

He had to get out of this room.

Ledger in hand, Harry pirouetted out of the way of another attack before dipping into a painful roll as he made his way towards the door that only moments ago seemed so close.

From his knees he unleashed a wall of fire, shielding himself for several precious seconds while he ran a quick diagnostic charm.

_Shite._

The protections were tied to blood. Flint either needed to end the assault himself, or Harry needed to kill him.

Casting a flame retardant charm on himself, Harry sprinted through the wall of fire, reaching the thick, brass door knob with ease he opened the heavy door and was met with an unexpected surprise, finding himself in a large, square room with a heavy grandfather clock on the opposite side. The clock itself was preposterously large with walnut overlay and an intricately enchanted moon dial. As the clock ticked loudly the pendulum swayed, with it the size of the room seemed to ebb and flow, making him slightly dizzy, as though he were in a muggle funhouse. To complicate things further, between him and the exit were more than a dozen suits of armor and even more feral foxes eyeing him hungrily from the shadows.

He felt the room begin to spin on its axis and pushed away the prickling sensation in the back of his mind with a bit of occlumency, an attempt to calm his mind. The experience left him wondering which part of his journey had been real.

The formerly curious Marvolo looked demonic as he lunged at his neck, distracting him while a smaller arctic fox bit his right calf, leaving him howling in pain as he killed both foxes with a pair of bludgeoners.

He felt woozy as the first suits of armor descended on him, and in his state his reactions were too slow for the enchanted knights, one of which shoved his spear through his left bicep.

The spinning of the room increased, and with each rotation he found the size of the room changing till the spinning stopped, the clock nearly on top of him in a room the size of the Dursley's foyer.

Harry idly noticed the still pendulum seemed to stabilize the room. What the hell was going on?

Another blast of fire kept his enemies temporarily at bay. Harry felt feverish through his labored breathing, and although the pendulum didn't appear to be moving, the room had kept spinning. Had he been poisoned?

A gray fox, with its light gray coat and accents of red, jumped through his flames unharmed baring its teeth, a strand of mucus-green drool hanging from its pointy mouth.

_Shite._

Now that Harry was acutely aware of the situation, he felt the poison begin to course through his blood stream as he killed the gray fox.

_Shite._

He didn't have much time. He hated this part.

Biting his lower lip, Harry slashed downward at his dying right leg, severing it at the waist, he fell to the stone floor in agony, narrowly avoiding another salvo from the armor.

While on the ground, he moved to cauterize the wound before quickly conjuring a temporary wooden leg – the best he could do under the circumstances, leaving him looking like Mad Eye.

He heard the tick-tock noises of the clock back at work as the pendulum began swinging at an unnatural rate, leaving his head spinning as the room expanded once more, revealing even more enemies in a display reminiscent of the Room of Requirement.

Finding his way back to his feet, he instinctively conjured several steel spears, hurling them towards the knights as they descended upon him. Only for his eyes to widen in surprise as they passed through the illusion, embedding themselves deep into the wall on the other side of the room.

He hobbled to his left, into the path of an iron fist in order to avoid another demonic fox, only for the fox to disappear as the fist nearly felled him to the ground.

He stared at the clock as a mocking laughter filled his mind**. **The room was mocking him, he needed out. "Fiendfyre!" Harry roared, a slight panic in his voice as he resorted to cursed flame to turn the clock to ash.

The clock bulged and howled, the pendulum swaying in a desperate attempt to stave off the inevitable, to no avail. Flames leapt from the clock, devouring the remaining foxes and filling the air with pained cries as the illusions began to flicker away, leaving him in the Flint homes familiar main atrium as the house around him burned to the ground.

As the walls collapsed, he sighed in joy at the sight of daylight that made itself known through the one window in the atrium that didn't tell a story.

Clutching the ledger in his hand, Harry hobbled his way through the open window, apparating to safety before he had a chance to hit the ground.

* * *

"And of course, Lav wouldn't understand. I love the gal, but she's more of a whore than an intellectual." She said casually, her grandmother's ivory handled hairbrush gliding through a bed of thick, blood red hair. Victoire's hair didn't need the brushing; it was free of snarls and well maintained as-is, but Parvati enjoyed the smell of apricot and casual conversation. Her child was a wonderful listener.

The solitary oval window of Victoire's room gave her an uninhibited view of Big Ben and Buckingham Palace across the Thames and a lesser view of Whisper Alley below, while filling her room with natural light and a gentle breeze, when the window was open.

In the center of the room sat a full-sized bed with an antique white, arched headboard with button-tufted upholstery, flanked on either side by matching nightstands while a corresponding dresser sat opposite the bed.

The walls were decorated in pale pinks, purples, and blues; an original Monet served as the decorative centerpiece separating Victoire's walk-in closet from her private washroom.

In the corner nearest the windows a large dollhouse with charmed occupants waltzing about sat next to a full bookcase.

Her Victoire deserved the best.

The girl in question sat still, charmed to the spot by Parvati's petrification, Victoire's fight or flight instincts could be forgiven for the moment, but would need to be corrected in the near future; Parvati couldn't risk being embarrassed when they stepped out in public.

She'd dressed Victoire in a pale blue Brunello Cuccinelli cotton poplin ruffle dress and was in the process of doing her hair in a single, tight braid that would run to the small of her back.

As predicted, Victoire had been the talk of the Prophet's social section following the funeral. Society was devouring every bit of information about the girl; from her one on one tutoring with Harry Potter to her proficiency in ballet. Fleur and, more importantly Gabrielle, had been reaping the benefits.

In all the excitement Parvati realized how rude she was being at present, she had been having such a one-sided conversation.

'_Finite.' _She thought, cancelling the petrification charm on her new daughter.

"How are you doing, dear?" Victoire trembled slightly and for a brief moment Parvati saw a shadow of fear creep into Victoire's mirrored face before a small smile overcame.

She was settling in nicely.

"I'm doing okay." Her voice was more confident than Parvati would have expected while Victoire's ice-blue eyes slowly undressed her new room.

Standing up slowly Victoire crossed the room to inspect Claude Monet's "View from Rouelles" depicting a solitary man fishing at a river, surrounded by lush greens. Parvati could just make out the cute consternation on Victoire's pale, crinkled face as she examined every brush stroke with intensity.

"Monet?" It was more of a guess than a certainty. A shot in the dark, though a correct one.

"Yes."

"It's really pretty."

Parvati smiled. They were already finding common ground. "Thank you."

Victoire continued to pace the room slowly, passing by the bathroom to inspect the writing desk in the far corner. "What's this?" She inquired, picking up the small glass paperweight depicting that famous moment in the Hogshead all those years ago, the moment Harry Potter transformed from whispers in the common room to General in one afternoon.

"That's the moment your Uncle Harry founded Dumbledore's Army; do you know what that was?"

Something flashed over Victoire's face, but it was gone before she could diagnose the meaning.

"It's the moment when, in the fall of 1995, my Aunt Hermione surprised my Uncle Harry and Uncle Ron by packing thirty five students - almost all of whom were committed to stopping Minister Fudge's Undersecretary, Dolores Umbridge- from taking over Hogwarts and who believed Harry Potter's account of the death of Cedric Diggory following the Triwizard Tournament and Voldemort's resurrection. While packed into the Hogshead; they bullied an overwhelmed and completely unprepared Harry into teaching them how to defend themselves. Throughout his fifth year he busted his ass and received little to no appreciation for his efforts, and, at the end of it all, his reward was betrayal, death, and misery." Victoire finished solemnly, as though the last point was the real tragedy of that entire year.

Parvati was amused by the decidedly dark, decidedly Harry take on the entire ordeal, but not surprised by the girl's knowledge.

"The surviving original members each received one of those as a keepsake after the war."

To her disappointment Victoire didn't ask any follow up questions, instead choosing to check out the closet.

"These are all my size." She stated in surprise as she thumbed through dresses and jumpers.

"Yes." Parvati said with pride. "I couldn't have you walking around in ill-fitting clothing." She said as though it were the most obvious thing in the world.

Victoire smiled pleasantly, making her way back towards the desk. "Excuse me, Lady Patil, I must use the restroom." She finished with a polite curtsy. The epitome of grace.

"Of course."

Victoire disappeared from view and Parvati let her mind wander. She was enjoying this moment but had work to do. She had thought her note to Harry would have spurned some action by now.

A creaking noise some time later drew her attention to a charging Victoire, paperweight in hand ready to strike.

'_Stupefy. Stupefy.'_

Victoire dodged both spells with a dancer's grace and took a swing with the paperweight; screaming ferally when Parvati dodged successfully.

She dodged another wild swing before sending another two spells Victoire's way.

Again, Victoire dodged, though this time she followed up with a pair of burnt orange fireballs rocketing out of her palms.

Parvati cackled in delight as she doused the flames. It wasn't just Victoire's demeanor that made her unique. She had a talent her family didn't. An uncommon trait among her kind.

A third fireball set her curtains ablaze.

Enough was enough.

She visualized what she would like to do to Aiden and smiled cruelly. "Crucio." Parvati spat, hitting Victoire square in the chest, causing her to scream in agony. It broke Parvati's heart to see her that way, but it was the only way she'd learn.

"That's no way to treat your hostess." Parvati chided, her voice rising above Victoire's screams.

Parvati released the curse, leaving the bruised and battered child ugly and shaking on the floor.

Victoire coughed softly, blood splattering on the walnut.

She crossed the room casually, crouching down she cupped Victoire's chin in her left hand, stroking the girl's bruised left cheek with her right. Victoire flinched at her touch. "Why would you make me do that to you, Victoire?" Parvati looked on in concern; Victoire was going to get herself killed acting like this.

She was in desperate need of some discipline. "Mims." Parvati barked, summoning her elf. "Please take care of Victoire, ensure she gets some rest."

Grabbing the brush, Parvati gave Victoire one last sad glance before leaving the room.

* * *

Woozy and injured, Harry crashed through the wards surrounding the Burrow, landing on his wooden leg he fell forward, face-first into the mud.

He tried to use his left arm to push himself up, only to howl in pain as his left arm gave out in agony, the injury courtesy of Flint's knights.

On the ground he got to work healing what he could before downing a bezoar and a pain relief potion.

"Harry!" Bill's wand was drawn and levelled at him with mild suspicion, pained relief on his scarred face. "Where do Remus and Tonks live?"

It was a clever question on Bill's part, Harry was the secret keeper, and Polyjuice couldn't mimic that. Though it had been years since they'd utilized safety questions.

Fresh from Flint's he was immediately on edge; what had happened?

"13 Grimmauld Place." Bill what's going on?

Bill gave him a look-over, grimacing at his leg. "You first."

"Flint promised me a ledger outlining everything he knew about the Monkey's Paw. Said he'd testify to it in exchange for immunity. When I went to retrieve it, he activated some unanticipated security measures and escaped." He smiled softly and held up the black ledger and Flint's wand. "Didn't come away completely empty handed, though."

Bill barely waited for him to finish; "George is dead. Victoire, missing." Harry kept the emotion off his face for Bill's sake. "They found his body underneath the Dark Mark."

"Parvati?"

"We think so."

Bill filled him in on the rest as he hobbled his way towards the large country home.

The infrastructure may have changed but the environment remained. Harry couldn't help but think of the nights the three of them and Ginny sat in Ron's room, wondering if they would even have a future to look forward to.

He certainly didn't think he'd live this long.

They entered the house to loud sobs and desperate plans.

"That's a ridiculous idea and you know it." Gabrielle's voice was firm and impatient, as though she had expected more from the grieving mother.

"Pourquoi?"

Gabrielle nearly growled. "Parce que, Fleur. Harry n'enlève pas la fille de l'ambassadeur indien!"

"Let's calm dow-"Harry winced as Ron was hit with stingers from both veela.

"Harry!" He would never tire of the relieved way Hermione said his name whenever she was stressed. "Where have you been?" He grinned despite the situation. Nor would he get annoyed with the demanding follow up.

The room went silent as the attention turned to him. He rolled his eyes. "Flint promised me a ledger outlining everything he knew about the Monkey's Paw. Said he'd testify to it in exchange for immunity. When I went to retrieve it, he activated some unanticipated security measures and escaped. Didn't come away completely empty handed, though."

He held up the ledger and Flint's wand.

Gabrielle nodded. "Good." She took a calming breath. "We believe Parvati and Aiden killed George and kidnapped Victoire." Her voice was all business. She sounded so flippant, as though she were explaining a vote and not discussing the kidnapping of her niece. "We are deciding on the best course of action." Harry knew better, though. Gabrielle wouldn't allow emotion to overtake critical thinking.

He reached into his pocket and handed Gabrielle the letter he had received from Parvati a day earlier. "They had a falling out. Parvati is acting alone."

"Do you think she'll traffic her?" Bill's voice was barely above a whisper.

Harry shook his head as Gabrielle passed the letter to Hermione. "She covets Victoire. I don't think she'd hurt her."

The attention turned to Hermione.

"I'd agree." She said without looking up. "Is Aiden going to be an issue for you, Harry?" A tinge of worry ever-present. "He has your blood."

Aiden didn't care about wealth. He wanted to prove he was better than him. "Aiden will use my blood to lure me into a fight." He said confidently. "Victoire is the higher priority."

Accepting his answer, Hermione turned back to the letter. "It's unlikely that Parvati would give you the location of where she's keeping Victoire."

"Still, I'll personally do surveillance on the place." Tonks said as she glanced over the letter before handing it off to Gabrielle and closing the gap between herself, Bill and Fleur. "I'm sorry I'm late" Tonks said, her black hair kept out of her heart shaped face with a simple rubber band, she wasn't in disguise; rarely was, anymore. Her many faces only come out after too much tequila, these days. "I wanted to make sure things got started off on the right foot should the zekanot require assistance."

"Smart." He said, drawing Tonks attention. "What's your plan of attack?"

The Director of Magical Law Enforcement smiled sharply. "This is a zekanot matter. If invited, we will help."

Gabrielle shifted uncomfortably while Hermione looked confused; "auror's have dominion over all crimes committed on the British Isles." She said, as if quoting directly from a book.

"Under almost all circumstances that is true." Tonks turned to stare directly at Gabrielle, her eyes narrowed. "Section IV lines twelve through eighteen; Traits Primés. Did you know Victoire could fully transform when you negotiated the treaty?"

Gabrielle smiled in faux pleasantry. "We respect a veela's right to privacy, that includes medical records. Victoire's genetics are not my business. "

Next to her, Fleur nodded her head in agreement.

"The zekanot would love the assistance of the auror's in this delicate matter." Gabrielle said succinctly. "But we request a bit of discretion."

Dropping the issue, Tonks nodded in acceptance. "You'll have our full cooperation, Elder Delacour."

* * *

She felt their eyes on her as she walked with more confidence than she felt over the wood paneled floors and passed the evenly spaced two-top bar tables. To her right the lights in the pool rotated colors every fifteen or so seconds while the slight breeze had the water splashing gently against the sides of the pool.

Ignoring the whispers of her colleagues at the ICW, Gabrielle grabbed a flute of champagne before pausing to enjoy the view of the sun setting over Barcelona, the rooftop bar at the Ohla gave her the perfect view as the light flickered off the various mosques and cathedrals, the mountains and sea off in the distance.

"Ambassador Delacour!"

She finished her flute before grabbing a second and turning to face the familiar voice. "Ambassador Corner." She said brightly, though she wasn't sure it was worth the effort, the vote had just taken place, they'd learn the results in the morning. Annette was the only reason she was even here. Leaders showed strength.

"How are you holding up?" He asked, placing what she supposed he thought passed for a comforting hand on her forearm.

Gabrielle backed away and Corner reddened slightly. He'd meant no harm and she let it go. "It's been a rough week." It had been four days since the funeral, three since Victoire had gone missing; seven hours, give or take, since the surprisingly elusive Lavender Brown had broke the news that Victoire had disappeared in the George Weasley murder. She hadn't speculated on suspects.

"She's an incredible girl."

Corner's admiration was genuine and shared by thousands. The dress Victoire had worn to the funeral had been adopted by several designers and had sold out in Whisper Alley. While the papers dissected her pre-Hogwarts education and her daily life.

Around them a half-dozen of her colleagues crept closer, some, like the French and American Ambassadors, were less discreet than others.

"We're all very proud of her." She replied graciously, eager to move the conversation along.

"We're surprised you're here right now, to be honest." A voice from just behind Corner chimed in. American's were always so blunt.

"The zekanot has authorized a significant reward for her safe return, a reward my family has pledged to match."

"Let us not forget the Malfoy's, Astoria Malfoy has matched that offer has she not?" Marci Beaucourt was always an unwelcome sight.

She had. Her and Scorpius were healing at a Veela safehouse in Tahiti. In all the hoopla the death of the Malfoy's and Lord Greengrass failed to catch the attention of the international press.

"She has -"

Beaucourt, the old crone, loved gossip. "And it's not just for safe return, is it? It's for information leading to her safe return, or either the capture or corpse of Parvati Patil."

"What's your point, Marci?" They had the entire delegation's attention now, including Padma and the other Patils.

"You ordered the execution of an Indian national-" It was her turn to interrupt. "I did no such thing." Gabrielle countered calmly. "I went to this body, presented a case, a case that has only been strengthened since then, and asked for an international warrant for a woman suspected in over two dozen kidnappings, trafficking incidents, and at least five murders." It's hard to argue facts. "The warrant we authorized allowed her to be captured and tried by zekanot rules, that includes private bounties and the use of deadly force, if necessary."

"She's right, Ambassador." Corner reminded gently.

She grinned gratefully at the British Ambassador who just smiled at her apologetically. "It's rumored that the zekanot is holding Lord Smith for questioning?"

She smiled angrily. Someone was leaking information. "The ICW is aware that we have a suspect, unfortunately until the suspect has been questioned in the presence of his attorney and an ICW representative, we cannot legally divulge details."

"Of course." Corner said with a smile. "If Harry does have Smith, I'm sure he'd enjoy the time."

* * *

He let out another frustrated groan. "Are you fucking kidding me, Abercrombie?"

"You only get one follow up. I have every right to silence my client."

"He's right, Lord Potter." The new Supreme Mugwump was a tall Slovakian woman in her early thirties, a lawyer by trade, Emilia Kovac had decided to oversee Smith's questioning personally.

"There will be a follow up session." Hermione countered, making the zekanot's position on the matter clear.

"If that is the case my client strongly objects to the presence of Lord Potter."

"Lord Potter has been retained by the zekanot to spearhead the criminal investigation of your client, by international law this is his investigation, Euan." He loved Hugo's condescending, dismissive tone while addressing the much younger man. Harry had retained him to protect himself from some bullshit countersuit. Hermione's recommendation.

"Enough." Kovac stated calmly. "We can negotiate this later. I believe Lord Potter has two more questions, each with _one _follow up."

Smith's questioning had been a legal nightmare. The Veela, not used to following the laws of the ICW, had taken their time to ensure every guideline was followed, then Smith's lawyers had thrown a fit about sovereignty or some shite. Finally, by the time they had been given the go-ahead he had recovered the ledger and Victoire had gone missing.

Smith knew nothing about the later, but the ledger had directly implicated him in at least one disappearance.

"What was your relationship with Harriet Meyers, and why did it end?" Flint's ledger talked of a dinner party where a caged Harriet Meyers was shown to guests, who liked what they saw. It was the birth of an enterprise.

"We went on several dates, she wanted to see other people." Smith's answer was brief and to the point, though Abercrombie's eyes widened.

"Is that why you kidnapped her?"

"Yes."

Abercrombie silenced his client. "Let the record show that Lord Potter's follow up question only allowed my client to give an answer that would make him appear guilty."

"Noted." Kovac stated dismissively. "Lord Potter, your final question."

He caught the faint scent of lilac and smiled. Gabrielle, at the least, would appreciate his line of questioning. "Lord Smith, besides Parvati Patil, Vladislav Krum, and Marcus Flint, was anyone else present during that dinner party, at any point in time?"

Hatred flashed in Smith's eyes as he tried to fight the inevitable. "Harriet Meyers."

He kept the smile off his face while he pondered the follow up. He could pin Smith for the murder of Harriet, but that would only bring partial vindication.

He could ask how much Vladislav Krum offered Smith for her, but that could be discounted as a sick joke.

"When was this dinner party?" Smith would remember, it's when he finally gave in to his urges.

"July 8th, 2006."

He caught Gabrielle's eye and they both smiled viciously. Harriet had disappeared on May 2nd.

* * *

She stared intently at her daughter, checking Victoire's makeup for any imperfections; she was still ugly from her behavior the other day.

Victoire, it would appear, was a quick learner. The curious girl hadn't made any further attempts to disobey her.

They waited on the balcony patiently for Mims to return with their champagne. They had been out at the penthouse so she had sent him to Smith's. It's not as though the man would need it anytime soon.

She glanced Victoire up and down, admiring the pale green and pink patterned sundress her daughter had picked for the occasion."I like your dress."

Two rows of perfect teeth smiled back at her endearingly. "Thank you. I wanted to wear it in the sun." A tinge of annoyance crept into her youthful voice.

Parvati understood the girl's frustration. London in the spring could be miserable, and quite unpredictable weather-wise. "I know my dear." She reached out with her left hand and placed it on Victoire's right. The child showed no signs of discomfort except for the slight tremble of her lower left lip. Victoire was both physically and emotionally strong. Parvati was happy to play her part in forging her. "Sometimes you have to give into your desires and wear what you want, even if you don't match the weather."

Mims appeared before Victoire could respond, two empty champagne flutes and a bottle of Dom Perignon, 2000, if she was reading the faded label correctly.

They waited patiently for Mims to fill both flutes before leaving the bottle and disappearing. Victoire stared at the flute with both excitement and trepidation. "Have you ever had champagne before?" Victoire shook her head. "Mum says I'm too young." Parvati frowned at the girl's reference to Fleur. "Well I think you're old enough for one flute."

Victoire eyed the flute suspiciously before curiosity won out and she took a small sip, her face grimacing briefly before turning into a small smile.

"What do you think?" She asked, eager to hear Victoire's response.

"It's dry. And fruity. And kinda cold."

Her lips thinned. Mims had allowed the champagne to chill for too long. "Good catch."

They drank slowly and in comfortable silence for several minutes before Victoire spoke again. "My uncle Harry says you and Lavender Brown are best friends?"

Parvati smiled. "We met on the platform on our way to Hogwarts and have been inseparable ever since." Lavender had always had a weak spot for her and vice versa. "I'll have you meet her sometime. I think you'd like her. She's very funny and knows everyone." Where most had heard the rumor of Rita Skeeter's animagus form and saw it as an amusing cautionary tale, Lavender had seen a brilliant opportunity. Her little grasshopper had worked so hard. "She has some wonderful stories about your Uncles and Aunt Hermione that I'm sure you haven't heard before." Victoire's blue eyes danced with mischief. "You promise?" For a moment the young veela seemed every bit the nine-year-old she was. "Of course." She hated lying to her daughter, but she was too young to understand.

A noise drew their attention to the doorway where Aiden stood.

"Hello Victoire." He said.

His voice was soft but his eyes were apocalyptic.

She trembled when he turned her way. She hadn't seen him since."I wasn't aware we had guests. Especially considering what we agreed upon."

She could feel him days later, even from a distance. She shuddered at the thought, but smiled. "I don't remember agreeing on anything."

Shoulders forward, leaning in towards her on his right foot, rage in his eyes. It would be so easy for him to kill her.

"I see." He whispered. He was furious.

* * *

He took a bite of his warm pastrami sandwich on fresh rye bread, taking a moment to appreciate the cheese to meat ratio. He felt an involuntary moan escape from his crowded mouth and when he opened his eyes Miles was giving him a disgusted look.

"Are you going to fuck that sandwich or are you going to answer me?" He shut his eyes once more as he chewed, opening one green orb lazily once he'd swallowed; Miles' agitation wasn't real.

It was an uncharacteristically warm spring day in Diagon Alley, warm enough for them to enjoy a pint and a sandwich on a patio, at least. "What was that?" Harry responded lazily.

"Lavender Brown. She's home now, if you still wanted to pay her a visit."

He downed half his pint and took another large bite before sighing at the thought of leaving a wounded soldier behind, but he was desperate to get a tracking charm on that woman. She was his best chance at finding Parvati; all his other sources had disappeared.

Lavender herself hadn't been seen in several days, though her daily in the Prophet was still being published so he knew she had to be around here somewhere. He'd put Miles in charge of monitoring her place.

He threw down several gold coins. "Let's go."

"Do you think she knows where Victoire's being held?"

"Not directly. No."

Harry's answer was more confident than he was. The tone of Lavender's articles regarding the disappearances had been skeptical of the ICW and the Zekanot regarding Parvati and her role. Lavender had speculated that Parvati was the victim of sexism, a sacrifice as Harry covered for the crimes of Zacharias Smith. That morning she had written an article questioning the official narrative of Lucius Malfoy's death. Gabrielle wasn't too happy about that and swore revenge on Louise. Lavender loved Parvati much like he loved Ron and Hermione. She'd do anything for Parvati, even if she knew her friend was guilty. Never doubt the strength of a seventeen year friendship.

He continued. "But she's an idiot. Who knows what we may learn."

His wand was in his hand, his pace was less than casual as they made their way through Diagon Alley towards Whisper Alley.

They rounded the corner of Dumbledore Avenue and crossed onto Padfoot Way, he smirked. Tonks and Remus had spent a lot of galleons for the name change.

He slowed his pace in this part of town, admiring the combination of muggle and magical shops, and sculptures dedicated to the victims of Voldemort that slowly gave way to an array of nightclubs and lounges - Whisper Alley's answer to Knockturns decades long dominance on the industry.

Turning down Longbottom Lane, they chatted nonsensically while they walked, Harry's eyes scanning the area all the while.

Miles whistled slowly as they approached the corner containing Lavenders apartment. "How's a halfblood of her status afford a flat in a place like this?"

Miles meant no disrespect. Purebloods still held a monopoly on the economy. Those halfbloods or muggleborns that could afford rent in a part of town this nice generally came from money. Lavender's dad was a pilot and her mum was a nurse. Lavender herself was a journalist. Even with her admirers and well-read column she couldn't be taking home more than twelve thousand galleons a year.

Miles continued; "right across from Gladrags Select and Gobert's. Whatcha think a place like this costs, Harry? Seven hundred galleons a month?"

He nodded. "At least."

Harry waved his wand several times , setting up anti-animagus and a bevvy of anti-transportation wards.

"Good luck, mate." Miles said as he turned to leave before turning back around to face him. "If you see her little book, grab it for me? I'd love to see what she knows."

"Will do."

Miles disappeared into the crowd like Hannibal at the end of Silence of the Lambs while Harry analyzed the area. It was a little after two in the afternoon and this part of the alley was bustling with middle aged witches and wizards drifting between buildings in London's central business district.

There was nothing of immediate concern in the area, so he approached Lavender's blood red door casually, pausing as he reached out for the knocker. The cleverly disguised silver knocker had been painted bronze and coated in a mild truth serum. More clever than he would have expected from his former housemate.

Using his fist he knocked three times. The high-pitched barking of a dog preceded footsteps and a look of nervous surprise in Lavender's brown, doe eyes as she answered the door. "Harry!" Her enthusiasm was forced.

"Hello Lavender." He said calmly as he invited himself inside. "Great to see you again."

The interior of the apartment was deceptively large, illegally so, if his initial observations were correct. For that alone he could have her charged. "Likewise, Harry." Her voice was more steady than her eyes. Lavender was good at occlumency, but not good enough to completely mask her emotions. She was _nervous _and she couldn't hide that from him.

"Would you like something to drink?"

He declined and they sat down at her dining room table; a medium sized oval that had chairs for six - two on each side, one at each head.

They each took a head.

"I haven't seen her." Lavender said without prompt.

From underneath the table he hit her with several tracking charms.

"Who?" She looked at him with an odd expression. "Who?" She parroted back to him.

He growled. "Who haven't you seen?"

"Victoire." She replied.

"But you have seen Parvati?"

She stared at him for a long moment before slumping her shoulders.

His intuition tingled as Lavender gave in. He had honestly expected more from her.

"Not in a while. Not since you accused her of killing Pansy, Crabbe, and Goyle. She said she was too busy with work to meet up." Her tone was accusatory, full of venom and disbelief.

He wasn't aware Parvati had a job. "She worked?" Even if that was true, she wouldn't be working with an international warrant hanging over her head.

Lavender looked at him for a moment as though questioning the integrity of Parvati's claim had never occurred to her. "Yeah. For Zacharias -"

"Zacharias Smith?" He interjected.

"Yes." Lavender said. "Lord Smith." Harry nodded.

"What did she do for him?"

Lavender shrugged. "She bought and sold antiquities. It was a natural match. Parvati loves history and decoration, and _things_. Zacharias offered her all three and a well-paying job that allowed her to travel."

"She didn't need the money though." He stated casually, knowing full well that Parvati was broke. "Her parents provided their daughters with generous trust funds."

"Yes." Lavender acknowledged. This wasn't a discussion, it was an interrogation. She understood that. "But Parvati has always had expensive taste Harry, you know this!" Her laughter was all nerves. "She needed supplemental income."

Parvati was broke because of her spending tendencies and found a job with an old classmate.

"When did she start working for Lord Zacharias Smith?"

"2006. Summer 2006."

He fought to keep the triumphant smile off of his face. He had Parvati. All he had to do was bring her in and his contract was fulfilled.

"Where would she keep Victoire, if you had to guess?"

Lavender thought for a long moment, her eyes glancing about the room before settling somewhere behind him. "St. Ives in Cornwall. She has a place there on the beach."

"Where else does she have residences?"

Lavender bit her lip, her fingers gently tapping her thigh.

"Her townhome in Whisper Alley, St. Ives, and that's it as far as I know."

He stood to leave. "Thank you, Lavender."

She smiled sadly. "Just remember this conversation, Harry. Remember I told you what I know."

He smiled softly and gave her a gentle hug before releasing. "I will, Lav. Don't worry."

As he rounded the corner his expression changed to one of hopeful fury.

Lavender Brown was full of shit.

* * *

She winced in pain, keeping her blue eyes on the rain covered windows overlooking the Thames and the far end of Whisper Alley as Mims' long, disfigured fingers gently applied salve to her bruised torso.

The after effects of the curse had left her hurting everywhere. It even hurt when she trembled. What was the curse that vile woman used?

"Apologies, Lady Victoire." Mims voice sounded like Patrick, did all elves sound alike?

Victoire caught a reflection of herself in the window and frowned painfully at the tears swelling in her eyes. Uncle Harry wouldn't cry in front of the enemy and neither would she. He always said life was war and you can't let your enemy see you in pain. Mum didn't like that.

"Nothing to apologize for, Mims." She said with as much strength as she could muster.

She didn't know how long she had been here. Or how she had gotten here. The last thing she remembered was talking to her parents in their kitchen. That vile woman wouldn't tell her a thing. Always deflecting, as though she couldn't detect that woman's bullshite.

"Do you think Lady Parvati will allow me to tend to the garden when the rain stops?" She tried to sound hopeful. That vile woman seemed to want Victoire to be happy. She liked to garden and the hag had promised her she could garden.

If she could do it she could jump off the rooftop and escape. Elder Monclair said she wouldn't be able to till she was older, but Uncle Harry said limitations were shite, and that anyone who said otherwise was just trying to manipulate her into submission.

"I can ask her for you, Lady Victoire."

"Thank you." She said and frowned. She hadn't meant to sound so childish.

Mims nodded and disappeared silently, leaving her alone in her room.

She shut her eyes and went about settling her mind as Uncle Harry and her father had taught her.

"_The trick is visualizing a white wall with a single black spot on it. Focus on the spot and forget the rest."_

She sat patiently, shutting out all outside thoughts and outside distractions.

What if nobody came for her?

She pushed the question aside, her focus firmly on the black dot on the wall.

What if I can't do it?

She cast aside the doubt, her focus firmly on the black dot on the wall.

What if they do to me what they did to Tara?

She pushed the question aside, her focus firmly on the black dot on the wall.

She didn't know how much time had passed before she felt a warmth on her palms.

Don't get distracted. Don't get distracted. She told herself repeatedly. This was the hardest part, and where she always messed up.

Slowly she opened her eyes hopefully as her corneas took a moment to readjust.

Victoire's hope turned into a triumphant smile, a pair of small fireballs in her palms.

* * *

The floo deposited her in a small workspace with a glossy, modern, white desk in the center. An expensive looking computer set and several pictures of herself and Lavender were the desk's only occupants.

Besides a small wire bin, the room sat empty, though the walls were lined with memories; herself, Lav, and Padma in Ibiza. Lavender and Dean in Hogsmeade from sixth year; Lav steadfastly maintains that that was the best date she's ever been on.

Parvati walked up to the oldest picture on the wall; Gryffindor class of '98, minutes after their sorting. She and Lav were posing for the camera while an eleven year old Harry Potter cowered near the edge of the frame.

She tore her attention away from the past and took the small door at the edge of the room into a moderately sized formal room with a chic formal table, set for eight, like always.

Parvati had always admired Lavender's skill with expansion charms. She'd taken a small, one bedroom, ground floor apartment in the Thames District and turned it into a good-sized two-floor apartment. Honestly she'd done about as well as she could, given the limitations of the charm.

How she anchored the charm to make it permanent was the more salacious story. Seamus, rest his soul, had told her Lav slept with, then blackmailed, Anthony Goldstein for some help around her apartment. Parvati wondered if the enchantment was what he meant, it wouldn't have been the first time Lav had used such a method.

"Parvati!" Lavender's voice sounded both surprised and relieved.

Parvati felt herself buckle momentarily. She didn't want to do this.

She smiled as she engulfed her friend. "It's so good to see you again, Lavender." It had been weeks since they'd been able to sit down together.

When they released Lavender stared at her for a long moment, a happy smile on her beautiful face. "Let's grab a drink and catch up."

But she couldn't think of another way. Lavender was a threat to her family.

She followed her old friend out the room and down the winding staircase into the natural apartment. "It's funny you stopped by, actually." Lavender said as she uncorked a bottle of merlot.

But Lavender was her family. Not by blood, she had blood, but Padma didn't understand her quite like Lavender. They'd been friends longer than not.

"Oh?" Was her response. Was she too late? Had Harry already paid her a visit?

"Yes." Lavender said, handing her a generous glass. "Harry stopped by yesterday."

Shite. She had spent too much time fawning over Victoire. She should have made this trip days ago. "Oh?" Her voice rose a slight octave and left the question unasked.

"I only gave them publicly available information. I suggest you avoid St. Ives for a while." Lav looked apologetic, outwardly she brushed her off. This was inevitable, the best case scenario, really. "Thank you."

Still, she didn't like it. St. Ives was her private residence. Lavender had been the only one who knew about it till she told Harry. She had wanted to take Victoire to Cornwall, enjoy a day at the beach, maybe dinner at One Fish Street or Porthminster Kitchen. That was no longer a possibility.

The thought angered her and she did the best to channel that rage into a hatred for Lavender but she couldn't do it.

They sat quietly for a while as they drank, the silence never becoming awkward. It rarely did between them.

"I was given credible information -" Lav began conspiratorially and Parvati felt thirteen again, innocent in Gryffindor Tower devouring rumours about Sirius Black. "-that Astoria Malfoy killed Lucius, Narcissa, and Lord Greengrass."

"I read your article." She said in mild disappointment. Aiden didn't believe the official narrative either. He assumed Harry had killed them as a favor to Astoria. "Yes, yes. Astoria was heard giving a French address when she discharged herself from the hospital and then was seen talking to Harry and Gabrielle at the Reservation two hours later." Lavender frowned at Parvati's impatience and continued with a smirk. "But I know why."

"Oh that is interesting." She felt bad for underestimating her friend. Lavender smirked. "The day after he was murdered Robert Greengrass and Lucius Malfoy had a meeting scheduled with the Lineage Office and Gringotts."

The wheels in Parvati's head spun. "You think they were negotiating a divorce." It would make sense. Astoria was of no use to the Malfoy family anymore.

"She votes the Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle seats in the Wizengamot, votes Gabrielle Delacour controls by proxy." Lavender stated. "I think Delacour didn't want to lose that power and convinced Astoria to have Harry kill them all."

"Interesting theory." She said, her wand on her thigh pointed directly at her best friend.

Parvati smiled sadly at Lavender. "You know I'll always love you, Lav."

The comment elicited a genuine smile from her. "Avada kedavra." She said sadly, her voice barely above a whisper.

A look of understanding came across Lavender's face as the deadly light consumed her.

Tears in her eyes, Parvati crossed the table to where her friend's lifeless body had fallen and knelt down to hug her friend as she cried herself to sleep.

* * *

"What do you think?" The vile woman asked eagerly as she sipped her champagne.

She let the liquid slosh around in her mouth before swallowing. She had no idea, it was kind of sour, and maybe a bit dry? "It's fruity, and cold." Victoire said, mimicking her Aunt Gabrielle's response.

Victoire's mother had resisted the urge to serve her wine or champagne to this point, insisting that she wait till she go off to Hogwarts before trying alcohol under her supervision.

She grimaced as she set the flute down on the glass tabletop. She was still in pain days later. What was that curse?

"My uncle Harry says you and Lavender Brown are best friends?"

That vile woman smiled. "We met on the platform on our way to Hogwarts and have been inseparable ever since."

"_Always be polite, especially when you're plotting." _Her mother said it was the Delacour family motto.

Victoire's eyes glanced around the spacious balcony. They were on the twenty third floor. The woman's penthouse took up floors twenty three through twenty five, twenty six if you counted the garden on the rooftop.

From the rooftop she could transform, then jump safely into the Thames.

She lost interest in the story when she felt the presence of a third individual. Victoire shivered in delight. The large man oozed power, the air around her was so dense she could almost _taste _the latent magic. He _felt _like her Uncle Harry.

"Aiden…" The vile woman's voice trembled slightly, her body language more guarded, more protected. The woman was scared of this new man. All of a sudden she found herself interested, something her father had said rang in her mind "_the enemy of my enemy is my friend." _Was Aiden a friend?

"Hello Victoire." The new man, Aiden said. His voice empty. She was disappointed and immediately on guard. He sounded like _her. _He couldn't be trusted either.

She chose not to respond, this wasn't about her.

"I wasn't aware we had guests. Especially considering what we agreed upon." Victoire cowered at the violence in his voice. This man wasn't like Uncle Harry. Uncle Harry was never cruel, he didn't use his power to intimidate people, not even those who deserved it.

She wanted to leave. The longer she was on the balcony with them the longer she was in danger.

"May I be excused?" She asked. She could feel the raw anger on the balcony. The man was going to lose control. Victoire didn't want to be around when that happened.

"You may." Aiden didn't look at her.

She shut her eyes before taking a deep, calming breath as she squeezed her right hand tightly, the familiar tingle of flame on her palm telling her when to release her fist.

She allowed herself a single, satisfied smile as she tossed the flame upwards from one palm before catching the egg sized flame in her left hand.

The flame was exceptionally dangerous, when left unattended; at least that's what Elder Delacour had taught her when she'd nearly burned down shell cottage when she was four. She was special, they said. Elder Monclair said she was the only veela alive capable of the transformation.

Several loud sobs drew her attention to her shut door and she let the flame dissipate. She was outside her door. That vile woman couldn't know her secret.

The door to Victoire's room swung open to reveal her captor's tear-stained face. She could feel the woman's regret, her sorrow as she crossed the room.

She sat across from her on Victoire's bed. Victoire didn't say anything. She'd decided against making small talk with the woman out of protest, though she didn't think her captor cared, or even noticed.

"Surviving a war with someone you love changes you."

Merlin she hated these. Why was it that every adult felt the need to tell her about the stupid war?

"It was so bloody difficult. We felt so bloody helpless. Death Eaters patrolling the school, families being eradicated in the middle of the night, the feeling of constant terror. " 'Harry Potter will save us!' They'd say. What a terrifying thought that was at the time. I've known Harry since he was eleven and instinct and intuition don't win wars, and that's all he had in those days."

Her uncle Harry had said as much to her on many occasions.

"I'd never been close with Hermione. And Lily Moon and Sophie Roper were inseparable. That suited Lav and I just fine."

Her voice was full of sadness. It reminded her of her mum when Louis didn't wake up. This regret was about her friend Lavender?

"Did you know Lav dated your Uncle Ron before he and Hermione got together?"

They fell into a silence and Victoire got the impression that her captor expected her to answer. "No. I did not." Her tone was inquisitive but she didn't really care.

She observed the woman as she rambled. She had fresh bruises on her arms and her left eye looked puffy. Victoire had to stop herself from smiling. She was glad that the vile woman was scared and in pain.

"They shared many, special moments together…" Victoire nodded appreciatively, remembering Lady Malfoy's lessons on how to deal with enemies.

"Lady Patil-" the name disgusted her, but got the woman's attention. "How is Lady Brown?"

Her captor's demeanor changed and Victoire knew she had said something wrong.

Her captor sent a light red curse her way and Victoire dodged on instinct, seemingly enraging the older woman further. "Crucio." She beamed, her voice full of hate.

Victoire was left wide-eyed and frozen as the familiar curse collided with her stomach, causing her to scream in agony as she convulsed on the floor.

She trembled softly in her bed, dark bags under her eyes, her hair disheveled, Victoire didn't know how long it had been since she'd slept.

She wasn't sure what to do in her pained exhaustion so Victoire worked. Taking a deep breath she closed her fists painfully, opening them a moment later to expose the matching balls of flame.

Angrily she tossed both balls at the Monet, both fizzling out when they met the retardant canvas.

Victoire sobbed painfully, pushing bad thoughts to the side. Her dad would come for her. So would Uncle Harry. Nobody could stop him. Her Uncle Ron said Death couldn't even stop Harry Potter. Uncle Harry would always say he couldn't wait to let Death win a round. He always said it with a wink and a smile, still Aunt Hermione didn't like that.

Determined she swung her legs over the ledge of her bed till her bare feet met the cold wood ground.

Slowly she walked to her desk chair. Sitting down, she took several deep breaths. The next part of the transformation was supposed to be painful. She didn't want to do it.

'_More painful than that curse?' _The voice in her head sounded a lot like Elder Monclair. What would she want her to do here?

The answer came to her instantaneously. Elder Monclair was a fighter.

She straightened her back and affixed a determined look to her face. The veela evolved from the harpy. That's why she could throw fireballs, it was a prerequisite for something greater. She could transform like Gwendolyn or Joan of Arcadia.

Shutting her eyes she began to meditate, keenly aware that her palms contained the balls of fire.

What was she supposed to do now? Aunt Gabrielle hadn't told her yet.

She sat wondering for several moments, her mind drifting to the picture of Joan of Arcadia in her final form. The cruel, beaked head, the long scaly wings bursting from her shoulders.

Victoire's mind stayed fixated on the pair of large, magnificent wings bursting from Joan of Arcadia's back. The way the beautiful black scales glistened in the sun. The way she stood proudly, her aquiline nose and beautiful blue eyes.

She ignored the discomfort in her back till she let out a painful yelp, causing her to open her eyes.

Victoire smiled as she caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror. She was taller now, and her head had thinned out and grown several centimeters longer. But most impressively was a single wing with glistening gold scales protruding from her back.

Her captor's attitude had changed. That was the first thing she noticed when that vile woman returned to check on her four days later.

"Would you like to join me for tea?" Her captor was relaxed, almost giddy. Victoire was immediately on edge. What happened?

She didn't want to know. She had to leave. "Can we take it in the garden?"

The violent woman eyed her for a long moment while Victoire did her best imitation of her mum's smile. "You have been good." The woman started as she scratched her chin thoughtfully. "And it's a wonderful day."

"I'm very pale, Lady Patil." She quipped. The woman liked how she looked. "If I don't get regular sun, I'm prone to burn. But if I'm able to get regular time in the sun I get a healthy glow. There's a yellow sundress in my closet that would look very pretty on me if I had a touch of colour."

The narcissistic woman nodded thoughtfully, a smile on her lips as Victoire spoke. "A very thoughtful observation, dear." Her captor sounded weird, as if she was trying to sound motherly but didn't know what that sounded like. "Change into your bikini and I'll take us to the roof."

She kept her face neutral though inside she was filled with a nervous excitement. She had been practicing for this.

Victoire changed into her ugly, bright pink bikini quickly. Her hair didn't look good in bright pink. Neither did her eyes. Uncle Harry said bright pink made her look like a whore. Her father agreed. She didn't know what that meant but she didn't like it.

"You look beautiful, love." The adoration in her voice felt insincere, what was wrong with this woman?

"Thank you."

Her captor talked consistently as they made their way up the winding stairs to the private rooftop the woman owned.

The rooftop was rather large and the farside overlooked the Thames. If she could transform she could glide safely down to the water.

They were headed towards the far corner table situated in just the right place to give the occupants unobstructed views of both Whisper Alley and Muggle London. Would she have enough room from there?

"Would you show me some of the flowers?" She asked hopefully.

Far from disappointed, her captor looked delighted by the prospect, grabbing her hand and dragging her towards a plant with green leaves that looked like cups and sparkled with dew.

"This is the Lady's Mantle." Her captor lectured; "the fresh dew -" She paused to make sure Victoire knew exactly what she was talking about, "absorbs just the right amount of the plant's juices that it makes a potent anti poison used by healers around the world." Her captor rushed through what she thought was a rather interesting piece of information. "However, if you let the dew sit undisturbed for a day or more, you're left with a potent, undetectable poison capable of killing a man in six minutes!" The woman was giddy as she lectured her.

Victoire needed more room. "What about that, over there?" She inquired, pointing towards a willowy flower with small, yellow buds and thin green leaves.

Her captor dragged her across the garden to the Rue.

"This is Ruta Graveolens, better known as Rue..." The despicable woman continued but she was no longer listening, Victoire needed seven seconds to make the transformation.

She felt the familiar tingle in her palms as two fireballs were produced, drawing the attention of her captor.

Victoire had planned for this as she unleashed both balls of flame at her captor while continuing the transformation, she could feel herself grow several meters while her head elongated, a beak forming where her mouth had been, she could feel the wings ready to burst from her back.

Her captor looked giddy as the flames engulfed several bushes behind her before spreading, filling the air with a thick smoke. "You _**are **_special, aren't you?"

Her captor waved her wand towards the door before Victoire started her charge towards the edge of the rooftop, she hadn't tried to fly before.

"Crucio!" The cruel spell hit her in the back, though with far less force than she recalled. She felt something snap inside her as Victoire turned towards her attacker, the urge to kill the woman was too much.

Her eyes located the woman through the thick plumes of smoke, and she screamed, but in the recesses of her mind Victoire was aware that it came out as a loud screech.

Realizing she was outmatched, a look of panic filled her captor's eyes as Victoire unleashed several fireballs, the thought of escaping a distant memory as her more animalistic urges took over.

'_Kill.' _Victoire wanted blood. More than that, she wanted suffering. That vile woman had tortured her with that spell and she wanted to make the woman who tried to kill Lady Malfoy feel pain.

With a thought her brilliant gold-scaled wings flapped, lifting her a half dozen meters off the ground and into the warm air. Victoire screeched again as Parvati, now joined by Aiden, unleashed a salvo of spells her way in an attempt to stop her.

Clumsily, Victoire avoided the first few spells before a particularly nasty cutter shredded her toughened skin, covering the flaming roof in a smattering of thick, red blood.

A new feeling came over her as the animal receded and she felt herself begin to tire. '_Escape.' _

She positioned herself upwards and forward towards the edge of the balcony, her enemies in pursuit as more spellfire whizzed by her. She wasn't hit, but felt herself weaken with each laborious flap till she felt her wings fail as she fell to the ground.

She sat chained at her desk, magical inhibitors on her wrists preventing her from conducting magic and transforming, a bored expression on her face as she worked on her hundredth ballet of captivity. This one was particularly violent and had starred a young ballerina gliding around the stage using a baton as a weapon against a violent male and female lead.

The dance done, Victoire turned to her journal to write the background of the scene. "_A young girl beats her captors with a baton before escaping." _ Her mum said she had a long way to go when it came to dialogue, but her Uncle Harry complimented her on her blunt nature.

It had been four days since she attempted to escape, four relatively quiet days spent alone.

She missed Rose, and Hugo, and her dad, and her Aunt Gabrielle, and Grandma Weasley, and Grandpa Weasley, and Uncle Harry, and especially her mum. She was never going to see them again. She could feel it.

The building shook.

What was that? Standing, she made her way to her window only to be magically restrained. Her new perimeter didn't allow her near windows.

The building shook again, this time knocking over her desk and sending her to the floor.

Shouting followed, then more shaking, finally screams and the sound of spellfire missing its mark.

It was getting closer.

Victoire grabbed the paperweight from the fallen desk.

The door opened and she cowered unseen in the corner as a tall man with long black hair and heroic green eyes came into view.

"Uncle Harry!" She cried in joy as she launched herself into his waiting arms. He held her as she cried.

"It's okay, it's going to be okay." There was something in his voice that told Victoire that that wasn't necessarily true.

Separating from him she gasped at his appearance. He was covered in dirt and blood.

Seeing her look of concern, Uncle Harry smiled; "don't worry, love, it's not my blood."

* * *

**A/N:** Shout out to House Telemanus, loyal allies of Mustang.

The fox study/theory/scientist mentioned at the top of the chapter is real. Here's the link to the 2010 article in "Scientific American." guest-blog/mans-new-best-friend-a-forgotten-russian-experiment-in-fox-domestication/

**A/N2: **I realize I glossed over the Veela gaining recognition from the ICW. That will get more representation in the next chapter, but I wanted to highlight how nothing mattered except for Victoire.

**A/N 3: **There's a chapter or two left in this story. And while I'd like to get this done, it may be a while. I'm in the process of moving across the country, starting a new job, and starting grad school. All in August.


	15. Chapter 15

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Harry Potter or the associated characters.

* * *

**Chapter 15**

She brushed a strand of loose, honey hair from her face before taking a sip of her celebratory 1999 Chateau Lafite-Rothschild. The intensely flavored red had been a gift from her Great Aunt upon being appointed Ambassador to the ICW. Gabrielle had promised Annette they'd drink it together when Veela won their rights, instead she stood quietly in the opulent ballroom, her gold accessories dancing in the well-lit room, celebrating Elder Monclair's dream alone, surrounded by people who did not care.

"Congratulations, Ambassador Delacour." The Slovenian ambassador said with a radiant smile that drew her to his perfect teeth and full lips. "Long overdue."

The man's sincerity was obvious, a rarity in the ICW, and it had absolutely no effect on her. She felt so empty inside. What was the cost of these dreams?

She squashed those thoughts. It wasn't her fault that Victoire went missing, or that her mother and mentor were murdered, that blame lay elsewhere. Those wrongs were being righted by the best.

Still she smiled widely at her colleague, wondering all the while why she should be gracious to these monsters, because they let her race have access to rights everyone was born with? A feeling of anger coursed through her. They should feel ashamed for the way they've treated herself and other _**non-intelligent beings, **_not relishing the ego boost that came with voting for equality. She'd spent three years lobbying for these rights, if they'd really cared it wouldn't have been a war.

Her eyes fell upon Ambassador Beaucourt. The French witch had been around long enough to write the discriminating legislation keeping _**halfbreeds **_out of the ICW. The same legislation she so passionately denounced the day prior in her speech in support of Veela and equality.

She hated career politicians. The opportunistic cunts clung to power, not values.

The rest were milling about the ballroom like schools of barracuda, looking for the next victim of their extortion scheme. They'd make requests and force targets into alliances that solely benefited the current member. They'd make unrealistic demands with floating deadlines. They'd promise the poor bastards a vote of support only to backtrack because the support doesn't align with one of their existing allies' goals. The poor werewolves, she thought, would be next.

Gabrielle ignored her anger and self-doubt. This moment wasn't about her or Victoire or Elder Monclair, it was about them all.

"It is, thank you for your continued support." She curtsied lightly to humor the man. Now that they were in, the Veela needed allies, would she become what she so vehemently hated? Would she allow her ego to talk her into clinging to this shallow, empty life? She'd wanted to be remembered in the annals of history, how juvenile she'd been.

The thought depressed her. The constant politicking, the endless backstabbing and bickering, would it never end?

She spent a couple of minutes catching up with her Slovenian counterpart before her attention found the French and American ambassadors talking animatedly with their Canadian counterparts.

She fought the frown threatening to break out across her face, their interaction from the previous evening in Barcelona still fresh in her mind. Now was not the time to be petty, especially towards friendly nations.

Her eyes caught those of Lavender Brown's. This time Gabrielle didn't keep the displeasure off her face as she instinctively patted her cream and gold clutch where her phone and an unread text from Astoria lay.

She hadn't had much of an opportunity to talk to her friend of late, a fleeting text here and there, but from what Gabrielle could tell Astoria and Scorpius were happy with no plans to return to the Isles anytime soon, especially not considering that morning's Prophet.

As the reporter made her way across the room towards her, Gabrielle's thought's shifted to Louise and her eyes narrowed. The Elder had been responsible for the information in Brown's piece on the Malfoy's that morning just as she had acted as the woman's source on Victoire's disappearance the day before.

"Miss Brown." She said with a pleasant smile not wanting the reporter to gain the upper hand as Gabrielle handed her a glass of something a little less generous than her Rothschild.

She hated the woman's doe eyes and magically enhanced lips. The obnoxiously fake laugh she let loose when she didn't understand a joke but laughed anyways because she knew she should. The way she curled her brown hair on her finger, not out of habit, but because she knew it drew attention to her glowing face; she wondered how long Brown spent trying to mimic Gabrielle's own aura? The thought made her smirk.

The bitch's blouse was less than professional for such an event, she noticed idly. "You look absolutely beautiful! How have you been?"

How badly she wanted to take the woman home with her, cut her hamstrings, then her achilles, and watch as the poisonous witch flopped around on her marble floor like a fish out of water. Maybe she'd enjoy the occasion with salmon and a bold red? The violent fantasy made her smile.

She hated the woman for her unyielding friendship with Patil. She hated her for her scarily accurate portrayal of Lucius Malfoy's murder. She hated her for shifting the discussion from the ICW vote to her missing niece. But most of all she hated her for her fawning series on that same niece. Victoire had enough pressure without the scrutiny of London society. Gabrielle would piss on the woman's grave, when the time came.

"That's great!" Gabrielle's response to Brown's long-winded reply was enthusiastic.

"Now if you'll excuse me, I see someone I must speak to!"

Lavender left her there mouth ajar. "That bitch" she mumbled audibly. How dare Lavender Brown make the considerable effort to approach her only to leave without exchanging pleasantries.

She sighed, upset at herself for her dour mood. This should be the happiest day of her life. She'd pictured it a thousand times over the months: her mother, sister, Victoire, Elder Monclair, Harry, and herself, celebrating a historic vote. Instead she felt… hollow. Dead inside.

She shifted uncomfortably, as if to shake herself of the thought. Harry would find her. He was the best, Annette had been right.

Gabrielle smiled as her thoughts stayed with Harry. Every moment Aiden lived was a danger to a thousand year fortune in Gringotts and yet his focus stayed on Victoire. Smith was safely in custody with enough evidence to tie him to all twenty five disappearances, Harry had kept his end of the bargain.

Gringotts had been bankrupt prior to procuring the Zekanot's fortune four hundred years ago, for that they owed them a favor bound by magic, no matter how uncomfortable, the goblins couldn't say no, magic wouldn't allow for it. For the first time Gabrielle wondered if the Goblins had considered the possibility?

Of course they had. They were economists and strategists foremost. They would have been aware of Harry's contract with Annette just as they had to be aware of Gabrielle's own relationship with the man.

Catching sight of the new Supreme Mugwump, she sighed. With Smith in custody and the Veela holding full rights, it would be best if she could get Kovac to observe the questioning personally.

"Emilia!" She cried, another fake smile on her face. "A word, please." There was no rest for the wicked, afterall.

* * *

"What's new?" Her sister asked with forced calm as she paced the kitchen with a glass of wine in one hand, a muggle cigarette in the other. Fleur looked as bad as Gabrielle had ever seen her.

From her perch on the wooden kitchen table she caught the eye of Bill sitting on the simple marble countertop opposite of her. They both smirked, the cursebreaker was a lot more calm than his wife.

"Tonks continues to watch Aiden's residence for movement but there has been nothing so far. Harry is working several leads and has enlisted Miles Bletchley to help track down Lavender Brown."

"Bletchley." Her sister spat the name. "The cleaning potions heir?"

Gabrielle quenched her annoyance but Bill beat her to it. "Miles is connected to the _seedier _parts of London through his mother. Lavender also runs in those circles. If Harry can find Lavender than he will find Parvati."

Her sister shook anxiously as she began her soliloquy.

Bill looked on patiently. The Weasley family, except for possibly Percy, held Harry in such high regard, they were so sure of his inevitable success that Gabrielle felt it a bit unfair to Harry, should he fail his relationship with the family would be altered forever. Everyone should be allowed to fail, the circumstance wasn't his fault.

That thought made a shot of guilt run through her. If he failed she will have lost Victoire; could their relationship survive that?

No, it couldn't. As much as it pained her to think about such things it was the truth. She would slowly grow to resent him for his failure but feel guilty about it because it wouldn't be his fault. He would shoulder all the blame and sense her anger, the Weasley's anger, and he'd isolate himself with drugs or alcohol, likely both.

Suddenly her mood mirrored Fleur's.

She glanced around the room uncomfortably for a distraction, finding one in the square windows doting the kitchen.

Shell Cottage was built on the coast near cliffs overlooking the Strait of Dover surrounded by green, the smell of sea salt in the air.

The house itself was small; three bedrooms, two and a half bathrooms, much smaller than the Burrow. It was a deceptively cozy home that sat on top of an underground bunker that could house thirty people.

"_A new dark lord rises every fifteen to twenty years. It doesn't hurt to have a little added security." _

Bill's words echoed in her mind as she turned her attention back to the suddenly quiet argument; both Bill and Fleur were staring at her expectedly. "Excuse me?" She said, a touch of red coloring her cheeks at being caught unaware.

"How is the interrogation of Smith? Have we learned anything from him that could help?"

Her frown deepened at the inquiry. Legal Counsel for the Zekanot, both internal and external, had advised against questioning Smith until they were certain they could meet all the requirements of an ICW interrogation.

"We have enough evidence on Zacharias Smith to put him away for twenty five cases of kidnapping and human trafficking. Each case carries a minimum of fifteen years in Azkaban" She said evasively. "He was apprehended before Victoire went missing and George was murdered. Harry does not believe he was involved in any way."

Fleur nodded appreciatively while Bill's eyes narrowed. He had undoubtedly seen through her misdirection. "Thank you, Gabrielle." He said with a smile, handsome despite the scars given to him by Greyback during the war. "How have you been?"

She looked on appreciatively, glad for the change in subject. "I've been good." She began as she caught them up on a few minor life events, her mind never far from Victoire.

* * *

"She's not there." Tonks said bluntly as he approached.

"Are you sure?" Aiden's home in the Orkney Islands sat on a small, isolated peninsula atop a cliff about a hundred meters above the North Sea down a dirt path that wound through the green hills, not terribly far from Kirkwall.

"Yes." She said sharply, straight black hair tied back in a ponytail, the tip of her wand barely visible beneath her white, long-sleeved blouse.

Tonks had never been a fan of Gabrielle's, despite her deep friendship with Bill and Fleur. Harry got the impression that Tonks felt as though Gabrielle's ambitions seemed to cash in on her niece. Harry's own relationship with the veela had, in a way, slightly harmed his relationship with Sirius's cousin and, ostensibly, Remus, and Harry's godson Teddy. He wasn't sure how he felt about that.

"Fair." He said with a nod. "I still want to poke around a bit." His eyes glowed mischievously. Aiden was a capable wizard.

Tonks nodded, unfazed by the intrusion despite the obvious ethical dilemma. Nymphadora Tonks was still a Black, she would put family before her duty to the department of magical law enforcement. "I'll back you up, just in case."

He nodded his head in appreciation as he gave his wand several waves. "You feel that?" He asked Tonks absentmindedly, willing to wait for her answer.

Flashbacks of his own journey, and a similar conversation in a special cave with Dumbledore passed through his mind. Merlin, he was becoming Dumbledore.

Tonks smirked, a playful smile on her lips, her thoughts aligned with his as she waved her wand dramatically.

He couldn't help it. "Miss Tonks?" He began in amusement, drawing her attention. "If you tighten up those flourishes you will get more accurate results while conserving energy."

Unexpectedly she transformed; her natural black hair replaced with short, pink hair, her bone structure shuffling slightly as she added several centimeters and her chest swelled.

A decade of life erased itself for a moment as a much younger Nymphadora Tonks pointed her wand at his face.

He felt his nose elongate and his face crinkle and was subtly aware of a large wizards cap appearing on his head.

When Tonks was done she snapped a picture with her phone before showing it to him.

Harry smiled. He looked like Professor Dumbledore. "You're not going to show that to him, are you?" He said as he undid the transfiguration.

"Next time I'm at Hogwarts, yeah." Merlin, she'd even adjusted her voice box to _sound _twelve years younger.

"Ughh." He groaned, stifling a teenage crush.

She smirked before sticking her tongue out childishly. "You love me."

"I know." They sat in silence as Tonks concentrated on the task at hand. "Inferi." She started. "Two dozen, plus a bunch of other nastiness, a water golem and merlin knows what else." She looked back at him. Despite being six years his senior and a terror in her own right, she wasn't him. "Can it be disabled?"

He waved his wand several times and sighed dramatically. "No. Aiden's being a real dick about his security."

"Activate it then fiendfyre?" She questioned.

Harry frowned. That would be the ideal solution but… "I don't want him to know we were here."

"Oh joy." She mumbled. "What do you suggest we do, Lord Potter-Black?"

"I'm thinking on it, Nymphadora." He snapped.

Glancing at each other, they exchanged grins.

"What about your cloak?" She said less than a minute later.

"Yeah." He replied. He had hoped to avoid that. They couldn't both fit and he would feel more comfortable with Tonks's wand at his back. "That's the best option."

He removed death's cloak from his pocket, "there's only room for me." He said apologetically.

Tonks nodded in understanding. "I get it." Her face returned to normal, she looked identical to her infamous aunt. "I'll be here when shit goes tits up." He smiled "I know."

**1111**

He stared up on the hundred meter water golem hurling balls of water speckled with coral and marine life at him with a relaxed smile as he vanished the large balls of sea water with ease, banishing the occasional whale or dolphin along the way, his wand moving continuously, searching for an opening as he sidestepped left towards the cliffs.

Large-scale elemental spells were predominantly scare-tactics while the real threat got into position, it wasn't overly difficult to dismantle an elemental, they were slow beings fueled by raw magic, you just had to survive long enough for the golem to lose some steam.

In this case, the real danger was that the army of inferi had decided to join in on the fun.

That complicated things a bit. He amplified his voice; "alright Tonks -" he stopped, his window had opened, giving him precious seconds to attack.

'_Fulminus.' _He thought rapidly, three bolts of angry, purple lightning erupting from the sky and finding their mark, effectively neutralizing the water golem he shifted his attention to the horde of inferi descending upon him. '_Fiendfyre' _he thought, a controlled blast of cursed flame erupting from his wand to devour a half dozen undead.

He inhaled slowly, his concentration fully on controlling the flame. Left to its own devices, fiendfyre would burn until there was no physical matter left to feed its wrath. If he lost control he'd likely destroy the entire archipelago. That would be annoying to clean up.

Exhaling slowly, his hips and shoulders moved in unison across the field, devouring the remaining zombies as they descended upon him.

His warm wand bucked wildly as he ended the spell and turned to Tonks, who was staring at him incredulously, "nevermind!" He said sheepishly.

"Unbelievable." Tonks said with an exasperated smile. "Unfucking believable."

"Be a doll and help me unravel the rest of the protections. No need to be bashful now, Aiden's going to know we were here." He finished, gesturing to the fields of ash, and smoke filled skies, the smell of sulphur burning his nostrils.

A few minutes later the wards fell and he turned to Tonks. "Aside from the kitchen and den, the place is spartan." He said, recalling the layout of Aiden's place with ease.

Tonks nodded. "Do you expect any booby traps?"

He smirked. Aiden never would have expected someone to get this far. "No." He said. "Aiden has always believed himself to be the most capable wizard on the planet." Harry explained. "Us getting this far is incomprehensible to him, poor idiot."

She nodded and they stepped through the patio into a well-equipped kitchen. "He's actually a damn good chef." Harry explained conversationally as they passed Aiden's walk-in meat locker. Knives hung from the walls like fine art intermixed with free-hanging pots and pans and dual center islands. The kitchen was a house elf's wet dream.

"If there's going to be anything useful, it will be in his den." Harry explained. "I'll check there, you search the rest of the house for anything you may want to loot."

"Aye, aye, captain." Tonks said with a mocking salute and a pretty smile.

Once she left him, Harry made a beeline towards a well-organized office with walnut cabinetry highlighted by a gigantic framed American flag with twenty nine stars. A flag flown over the Battle of Buena Vista, where both American General Zachary Taylor and Mexican General Antonio Lopez de Santa Anna claimed victory.

Aiden had won it in a poker game with a muggle.

Harry passed through the room, heading straight for the back wall. Not breaking stride, Harry passed through the wall and into a more compact den that felt more like a wine cellar than study.

His eyes wandered the room in search of a small, iron, muggle lockbox.

He smiled as he caught sight of it sitting at the end of a bookshelf on its side, crammed between two books. Whatever Aiden did, or did not know was in that lockbox.

Grabbing it he exited the hidden den to find Tonks waiting patiently.

"What's that?" She said loudly, pointing at the box under his left arm.

"Maybe nothing." He said with a slight shrug, not convinced of that notion himself. "But we need Aiden's blood to find out."

Tonks nodded in understanding. "I'll keep my eye out for him."

He smiled. He'd missed this. "Thank you, Tonks."

* * *

A cruel expression on her elongated face made Gabrielle resemble a harpy as she sat across from her goblin counterpart. She may not have the abilities of her niece, but that didn't mean she couldn't call on her heritage when needed.

To her right sat Hermione, who joined her at Gringotts at Gabrielle's invitation. To Hermione's right sat Hugo, who had been retained, without his knowledge, on Harry's behalf; they were discussing his family's fortune, afterall.

To Gabrielle's left sat Matilda Waters. A young, mousy veela who served as the Elder Council's Chief Legal Advisor. The veela's anxious jitters were making _her _nervous.

Opposite her sat a Gringotts contingent highlighted by Stonefoot, a prickly goblin with pointy teeth and long, thin fingers. The goblin's presence sent a message.

"Elder Delacour - " Stonefoot began, his voice even, if not a bit quiet. "Gringotts values the business of the Zekanot above all others, we show our appreciation through your _**generous **_interest rates." The older goblin cut right to the chase, avoiding small talk completely.

Nine percent. That was the ridiculous interest rate that Gringotts had to honor until at least 2606. But Gabrielle remained quiet. She wasn't here to speak. That's what she paid lawyers for.

"Interest rates locked in by magic for at least a thousand years." Hermione chimed in, echoing her thoughts. The woman always did her homework. "Which brings us back to the discussion at hand, the promise -"

"-is not valid if it involves a third party." Stonefoot interrupted. It struck her that Hermione was with Harry the day he broke into Gringotts and that her presence more than likely insulted Stonefoot.

Not that she gave a shite.

"The wording of the offered favor does not read that way, I suspect magic would agree with my clients interpretation." Hermione countered.

Gringotts lost a large majority of their clientele during the Goblin Rebellions of the late sixteenth, early seventeenth centuries; over ninety percent of their business walked out the door in a little over a decade. The Zekanot invested the equivalent of several billion galleons following the peace agreement in 1606, earning themselves a preposterous interest rate for a thousand years and one, unquestioned favor from the goblin nation.

The Veela had guarded it greedily for over four hundred years.

She watched silently as Hermione passed over a copy of the ancient agreement.

"_It's quite simple, really. The request must be something that the goblins can provide. Unquestionably they were thinking of a military or political alliance of some sort, but the goblins provide an obvious service as well. The verbiage used doesn't preclude Gringotts."_

Hermione's current words echoed what she had told Gabrielle the day before.

Stonefoots face soured while some of his contingent snarled in an attempt at intimidation. Hermione simply raised a well plucked eyebrow. The woman had broken into the bank at seventeen, she wasn't going to be intimidated now.

For the first time Matilda spoke. "The Zekanot is calling in your favor. We request that you pardon Lord Harry James Potter-Black by the end of the day. If you fail to produce a pardon, the Zekanot will be forced to exercise our out clause outlined in section four lines nine through thirty six."

Gabrielle watched in admiration as the woman threatened Gringotts Chief Legal Officer without a bit of anxiety and with a bit of venom, as though she had been dying for the opportunity; whether it was to prove herself, stand up to the goblins, or impress her, Gabrielle did not know.

Stonefoot scoffed. "Enough of your nonsense, chick." The goblin eyed her menacingly. "You're going to let a child speak for you, _Elder _Delacour." He spat out the title mockingly, his demeanor shifting.

Matilda snapped her fingers in front of the goblin's face, drawing his attention back to her. "Issue the pardon and remove the hold on Lord Potter-Black's vaults, today, or the Zekanot will begin withdrawing funds tomorrow." She paused to hand the man a slip of paper. "Those are instructions on how to get in contact with our contact with the elves. You can send our funds, plus the 10% breach of contract fee, valued at roughly 10 billion galleons, there if that's the route you wish to take. Remember, that penalty must be paid in gold, if Gringotts is unable to pay out the penalty then the previously agreed upon solution will be provided in the form of equity in the bank, to be paid out quarterly, in gold."

Matilda smiled sweetly, she'd made her point, Gabrielle wondered if she'd twist the knife?

"A refusal to abide by those terms would leave the punishment up to magic." As an ambassador Gabrielle winced. Short term gratification like this generally caused her long-term nightmares.

Stonefoot's advisors were livid but the goblin himself had gone calm, a pained look on his ugly features. He was an economist and a lawyer. Losing their largest investor would lead to a mass exodus and destabilize his people and the economy at large.

Gabrielle wondered what was going through the ancient goblins mind? Annoyance and anger, obviously, maybe a touch of disbelief? Annette would be bluffing at this point, Stonefoot would've known that.

"I don't believe you." He said calmly, taking a sip of tea. "In order to punish us you would lead your people to ruin? After all you've gained?"

She remained silent. Gabrielle wasn't bluffing.

"My client doesn't bluff." Hermione started coldly. "If the favor isn't honored, then my client will move their substantial wealth, as will the Weasley family."

She hadn't been expecting that.

While Stonefoot stared at them, Gabrielle could see the plethora of emotions going through his mind.

He could fight, brush her off and take his chance that magic would understand.

He could have his guards kill everyone in the room.

He could call her bluff.

But he wouldn't, not because of some misplaced sense of honor but because of self-preservation. Stonefoot would be forced to retire in shame because of this, but at least he and his family would live.

"We require the return of all goblin artifacts in the Potter family vaults in exchange for the pardon." Stonefoot said quietly. His contingent looked slightly betrayed at the elder goblins' words.

"No." Hugo said, speaking for the first time, a bored expression on his face as he picked his nails. "You have no leverage here. Lord Potter-Black is willing to replace the dragon he allegedly stole as a gesture of good will, but his property remains with him."

A defeated look overcame Stonefoot. She couldn't fault the goblin for trying, he _needed_ a win.

"There will be no press release?" Stonefoot asked, a subtle tinge of hope clutching to his voice. A year ago she would've empathized with his desperation, now she felt nothing at all.

For the first time Gabrielle spoke. "No press release, no media, no story. Just one of your wealthier family accounts investing its money and participating in the economy for the first time in over twenty eight years." Goblins were stubborn little buggers. She really had to spell it out for them.

"Thank you." Stonefoot responded graciously in a rare moment of brevity. He snapped his fingers and a document appeared in front of him.

Gabrielle waited while Hugo and Hermione reviewed the pardon, a genuine smile on her face for the first time in days. Harry deserved this.

Ten minutes later the quartet found themselves in the Leaky Cauldron when Hermione's curiosity got the better of her.

"Matilda!" She said, drawing the young veela's attention. "When did you make contact with the elves?"

Matilda glanced Gabrielle's way briefly, offering her a coy smile before returning her attention to Hermione. "I don't know what you're talking about, Hermione. I've never met an elf in my life."

Gabrielle laughed loudly, days of tension evaporating in an instant.

"How do we tell Harry?" She said, a freshly forged key in her right hand, a beer in her left, feeling more optimistic than she had in weeks.

* * *

**A/N: **Sorry for the delay. Life's busy. This chapter's short because it has been partitioned. I didn't want to go another month without an update. Because this chapter's partitioned, Chapter 16 is well underway, I hope to write some this weekend.


	16. Chapter 16

**Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter**

**A/N: **I love symbolism and worked my ass off to finish this story in time to post today. Enjoy.

* * *

"It's great to see you again!" Lavender's voice interrupted his thoughts as he set the quaffle on his desk to listen. The enthusiasm in his former housemate's voice piqued his interest, could he really get so lucky, so soon?

"You too, Lav." Harry took his feet off his desk and sat up in his chair, leaning into his wireless, he could almost hear the warm smile in Padma's voice. "I enjoyed your reporting in the Prophet this morning. You make a compelling case."

Harry frowned, Gabrielle had been livid. Whether it was at the accusations or how close Lavender had been to the truth, he did not know.

"Any ideas as to how Astoria carried out such a brutal murder?"

Lavender was smiling in her best attempt at being mysterious, he imagined. "You'll see tomorrow."

The line went silent for several long moments. "Have you talked with your sister?" There was a hint of desperation in Lavender's voice.

"Yes. Padma replied automatically -" Harry grinned, thankful he was recording this. He was going to take down the whole family. "Parvati will be fine."

"Are you sure?" Lavender's voice sounded anxious. Far cry from how she sounded a few hours ago. "Where is she?"

"She borrowed one of my places, she's safe, Lavender." Padma repeated comfortingly. "I'm not going to tell you exactly where she is, but she cannot be found. Don't you worry."

Padma was the secret keeper and she was protecting her serial killer sister. He really was going to take the whole family down.

The conversation rattled on for another half an hour before going dead, leaving Harry to ponder his thoughts. Fleur was starting to get restless, Gabrielle had said. Maybe it would be best to pay them a visit. She and Bill would appreciate the update.

**1111**

He'd always enjoyed Shell Cottage; from the location of the comfortable home, to the stables, to the impenetrable bunker underneath; he looked forward to buying a piece of land of his own when this was all over. Maybe he would build a home along the coast with Gabrielle? The thought made him smile unexpectedly.

Harry took a long moment to enjoy the salty smell of the air, his magic reaching outwards, touching the wards softly, they responded violently to his magic causing him to retreat in alarm.

Warding and cursebreaking went hand in hand. Cursebreaking, afterall, was a synonym for treasure hunting, most treasures were guarded by an array of security measures. When Bill's ten year contract with Gringotts ended he had gone out on his own installing custom security systems for the world's elite. If the ceiling of the sistine chapel was a masterpiece, what did that make the wards surrounding Shell Cottage?

Still the soul of the wards felt fractured, as though they had been violated.

Wand out, Harry picked up his pace as he made his way down the winding path towards Shell Cottage, stopping as Gabrielle appeared. Shaking violently with tears pouring down her face, Gabrielle wrapped her arms around him tightly as she sobbed.

* * *

"How's my mum?" Victoire's voice sounded casual, but Parvati caught a hint of underlying desperation. Victoire thought she was being held captive.

Champagne lunch on Padma's terrace had become something of a routine for her and Victoire, an hour a day that Parvati had grown to treasure.

If she felt as though she was a captive, Victoire would try and escape again, she couldn't have that.

"She's fine, love." Parvati said with a charming smile.

"I'd really like to see her."

Parvati's hand twitched towards her wand in anger "why don't you write her a letter?"

Victoire frowned briefly but covered it well. "I'd like that."

Parvati smiled in relief at the temporary fix. A more permanent solution would have to come later. "Excuse me."

She left the patio quickly, shutting and locking the glass door behind her as she made her way down the hallway, stopping for a brief moment to examine a picture of herself and Padma in Las Vegas shortly after her sister's graduation from Oxford.

"She- " his voice startled her, she hadn't even heard him approach.

Parvati fingered her wand as she turned around to face Aiden. "What about her?" She played the fool but she knew what was coming. Parvati had hoped to avoid it. "Harry has people watching her."

His footsteps echoed down the hall before she had a chance to respond.

**111**

A loud alarm emanating from her wand shook Parvati out of her delirium. How long had she been crying?

A tepid touch of Lavender's cool forehead told her all she needed to know.

This was Weasley's fault. Yes, yes. They put Harry up to it. He wouldn't have visited Lav otherwise.

She felt a familiar rage swell within her. Bill and Fleur were the cause of all of this. Their mere existence threatened her relationship with her daughter.

Reaching into her pocket, Parvati grabbed her grandmother's ivory hairbrush, taking a moment to admire the craftsmanship. Her grandfather had made it himself from the tusk of an elephant he had killed. He had given it to her as an engagement gift. When Parvati found out it had been willed to Padma, she took the brush for herself.

Plucking several red hairs from the horsehair brussels, Parvati dropped one each into three vials before drinking the first.

Polyjuice potion was never a pleasant experience. It wasn't natural for your bones and organs to shift. Going so small was particularly unsettling and Parvati felt herself emptying the contents of her lunch onto Lavender's floor as she shrank before changing into a child's light blue sundress. Conjuring a mirror, Parvati took a moment to admire herself. Victoire was such a lovely girl.

A smile on her lips, she disappeared with a loud pop.

**111**

She watched silently from under her disillusionment charm as Fleur walked from the bakery towards Knockturn Alley with a slight stagger, following her weekly routine.

The creature was drunk.

Parvati smiled at her good fortune. _Perfect. _

She ran ahead several meters, dipping into a narrow alley on her right, Parvati undid her disillusionment charm, fussed her hair, and waited till Fleur was in view.

A devilish smile crossed Victoire's face briefly before settling into a look of terror. "Mum!"

The blonde creature stopped in her place before turning towards her, a hopeful look on her face, "Victo-" she had her wand pointed at the veela before Fleur had a chance to finish. "Imperio."

**111**

The pair stood just outside the wards of Shell Cottage, the breeze from the sea giving her respite from the sweltering sun. She couldn't go further, not without permission from one of the wards administrators.

For all it's benefits, polyjuice only affected the drinkers appearance, security this advanced relied on familiar magic.

'_Give Parvati Patil clearance.' _Parvati's thoughts were clear and not well received by the veela, if the look of confliction and fear were any indication.

Parvati repeated the command with more force, overpowering the drunken veelas feeble attempts at self control. The weak minded creature didn't deserve to raise such a child. Victoire demanded more care, more attention than Fleur was able to provide.

She watched as a mindless Fleur moved her wand robotically before coming to a pause several moments later.

At some point the comfortable breeze had come to a stop, leaving the pair in an eerie, still, silence, the air thick with destructive magic, she could almost taste the power behind Bill Weasley's wards.

Conjuring a knife, Fleur made her way over to Parvati, cutting her palm deeper than was necessary, Parvati winced in pain. Fleur was fighting her curse more effectively now.

She felt a warmth run through her as she commanded Fleur to lead her to their kitchen.

Fleur scowled, and she felt her control on the older woman lesson, forcing Parvati to redouble her efforts.

They walked in silence for nearly a minute before reaching the kitchen.

Parvati thought for a moment, trying to decide if altering her original plan would present a greater risk than staying the course.

Coming to a decision, Parvati turned her wand on Fleur. "Avada Kedavra!"

To her surprise, the former Triwizard Champion dove to the left, towards the marble island in the center of the kitchen, the green killing curse narrowly missing its target.

Parvati scowled as she felt the effects of the polyjuice potion wane as her bones and organs began to shift, her body expanding, bursting through the child's sundress, leaving her naked where she stood.

In the time it took for the polyjuice potion to wear off, Fleur had regained her wits, sending a wobbly piercing curse her way.

Parvati smirked as she batted away the curse - the creature was still drunk. "Avada Kedavra!" She barked.

Fleur ducked the curse with a feral growl, forgoing magic, the older veela barrelled into her , punching Parvati with reckless abandon.

She struggled beneath the stronger veela before wiggling her right fist free. Extending her palm upwards with a bit of power, she felt Fleur's jaw crunch under her strength as the Indian woman smirked viciously as she gained the upper hand.

Now on top of the woman, Parvati pushed her knee firmly into Fleur's chest as her hands found her neck and _squeezed. _

The creature flopped around beneath her, struggling to survive. Parvati would not let up. As long as Fleur survived Victoire would never accept her.

Parvati's grip tightened even as Fleur stopped struggling. She needed to make sure she was dead, she couldn't leave anything to chance, otherwise Lav's death meant nothing.

Feeling better, Parvati stood up to admire the body.

Removing an unspoiled vial of polyjuice from her pocket, Parvati grabbed several strands of honey blonde hair, dropping one into the vial before downing it and transfiguring Fleur's body into a lily.

A pleasant chime alerted her to a new magical signature arriving.

Chancing a glance out the window, Parvati smiled pleasantly. Harry had arrived.

* * *

He held her as Gabrielle sobbed into his shoulder, something was clearly wrong, but it could wait for her to finish. It must be nice to be loved by Harry Potter.

She had maybe thirty seconds.

Parvati increased her grip on him, delighted by the lack of armor.

Reaching up her skirt, Parvati grasped the cool steel handle of the kitchen knife she'd nicked from the kitchen.

"What was that?" She said, missing his question.

This wasn't good, he was pushing away.

"What happened?"

She smirked and his eyes narrowed, the illusion shattered.

Parvati plunged the knife between his breastplate and ribs hoping to find his heart, but was met with bone instead.

She chided herself on such a basic mistake. She should've gone for the gut.

Harry howled, in shock as he rounded on her, rage in his eyes. She had to get out of there before he got to his wand.

Having had her fun, Parvati dropped the knife before laughing wildly and disappearing with a soft pop.

* * *

"Will you stop whining about your damn boo-boo!" She snapped. Gabrielle wasn't in the mood for Harry's bullshit. Not with her sister dead, her niece missing. "She healed you up just fine! No permanent damage!"

Harry's green eyes flashed a level of hurt before settling in. "I'm sorry." He said as he took a sip of his wine, his half eaten pheasant temporarily forgotten as her eyes fell in shame. Gabrielle wasn't mad at Harry.

"Me too." She said before hurrying to the next topic. She hated lingering on a disagreement. "I cancelled my subscription to the Prophet today." She said before taking a bite of her salmon, smiling at the perfect preparation. Hermione was right, hiring a house elf had made all the difference.

"Good." He said as she hit him with a stinger for speaking with his mouth full.

Swallowing, Harry continued. "Journalists are the scum of the earth, you know that."

For the first time in days she cracked a smile, Gabrielle was well aware of her boyfriend's lifelong war with the press. "Does it bother you that they accused you of her murder?"

He stopped eating for a second. "It bothers me that people I've known my whole life would believe I actually did murder Lav."

She nodded, and for the first time in months an awkward silence fell over them as the scraping of silverware echoed through her cozy kitchen. "You looked good today," Harry started, a cute blush filling his face and breaking any tension. "I'm sure London is buzzing."

Gabrielle looked past Harry and out the window to the posh stores and social clubs of Whisper Alley. She didn't give a damn what they thought. She didn't give a damn about tradition. She didn't give a damn about her reputation, not anymore. Zacharias Smith would be prosecuted and executed for his crimes and she had been proud to announce it to the world. Backlash be damned.

"To victory." Harry said in cheers as he tapped his crystal glass to hers. "A cadmean victory, maybe." She replied pessimistically. How could she possibly believe this victory made her life better?

Her mother, Elder Monclair, and now her sister. There was nothing left except for Victoire, and they had her as well.

"Parvati is holding Victoire at one of Padma's properties." Harry spoke, as though he had just read her mind, and knowing Harry, he may have. "Padma is the secret keeper."

A ray of hope swelled within her and for a moment she felt less defeated. "Do you know where Padma is?"

He frowned and her mood dipped. "No." He said. "I don't."

She wracked her brain. She didn't really know the woman outside the IFC, but that gave them enough of an opportunity. "There's a monthly happy hour tomorrow in Istanbul. All social members of the ICW will be there."

The bit of hope went a long way to removing the tension at the table as they ate in enjoyable silence.

"I want you to take Tonks with you." She went to argue but he cut her off. "If Padma sees me she will be suspicious, Tonks blends in."

She nodded in acceptance. "As long as you are the one to ask her." He frowned. She knew it was childish of her but she needed the most effective path at the moment, not the most mature.

"That's fine." He quipped. "While you're there, I'll pay Aiden a visit."

She nodded, her eyes falling on the purse on her countertop and she suddenly felt guilty. She'd had his key for three days.

"Where are you going?" He asked as she approached her purse, digging around for a moment before her fingers felt the soft white cloth she had wrapped it in.

Her hands behind her back, she bent at the waist, giving his lips a soft kiss before placing the cloth concealing the key in front of him.

The look of recognition in his eyes nearly overwhelmed her. "Is this -?"

"It opens all Black and Potter vaults." She said softly. "You deserve it, Harry."

He said nothing and she watched as his smile turned into a frown; isn't this what he wanted?

"It means nothing without Victoire."

She held him tight, her mind elsewhere for a long moment. "I love you." She said warmly, and although she'd said it before it felt as though she meant it for the first time. "I love you too." He said softly as they swayed in each other's arms.

* * *

She weaved about the edges of the Seasons restaurant, sticking to the shadows as she watched her target converse with the representative from Bahrain at a small round table near the middle of the room.

The Four Seasons Sultanahmet, was named for the seventeenth century Sultan who ruled the Ottoman Empire for fourteen years before dying of typhus at twenty seven. Centered in the middle of Istanbul's Old City, the mostly muggle hotel was a celebration of the Sultan's grandeur.

She eyed her prey as she finished her second martini before ordering a third from the waiter as her hand rested on the forearm of the Bahrainese delegate.

Padma was horny, but not drunk enough to sleep with a virtual stranger, martini number three would solve that problem.

Accepting her own drink, a fine pour of Colonel EH Taylor Single Barrel, Gabrielle downed her calming drought before taking a sip of her bourbon, she needed more of both.

If caught she'd likely be expelled from the ICW, setting the Veela back several years. If caught it was likely Louise and her contingent would move to have her expelled from the Zekanot entirely.

Pushing those thoughts aside, she felt the calming draught kick in as she finished her bourbon. It was showtime.

Gabrielle caught Tonks' eye and waited for the disguised waitress to exit the restaurant before she made her move. The two had come to a terse truce built around their mutual desire to see Victoire safely returned. While she didn't like the woman, Gabrielle appreciated having a skilled wand at her back less something went wrong.

Unlike her slightly younger sister, Padma had a lack of self-confidence Harry had attributed to a slight stutter during her early years at Hogwarts stunting her social development.

She felt her own confidence issues creeping in as she hyped up her aura, focusing it on the delegate openly gawking at her from several meters away as she approached. She could smell his arousal and for a moment Gabrielle grinned viciously. Preventing Patil from relieving a bit of tension was a nice secondary outcome.

Padma must have sensed that she'd lost her date's attention and turned to face her just as Gabrielle was about to pass in front of her table.

Gabrielle could see the jealous hatred in Padma's eyes, her mind no doubt recalling all the times Parvati got the guy, but Gabrielle didn't care, she only had eyes for the woman's date.

She slowed her walk and smiled charmingly, brushing the man's arm with her own as she passed. She needed this to work.

"Excuse me, Elder Delacour?" She peered over her shoulder seductively, impressed at his use of her preferred title, he was interested in her before tonight.

The well-educated man's voice held the touch of an American accent, northeastern, if she was correct. Harvard? MIT? Columbia? Yale? Is that where he spent his college years? She wouldn't be surprised.

She cleared the smirk from her face before fully turning to him.

"Yes?" She said, stepping into his personal space so he could feel her warm breath on his neck.

From the corner of her eye she could see the conflict running through Padma.

'_Grow some balls Patil. I'm about to sleep with your man just because I can.'_

"Can I buy you a drink?" He had balls, that was for sure. Asking a taken woman out for a drink.

She licked her cherry red lips seductively, drawing his eyes first there, then to her breasts. This man would do anything for her, for only a touch.

Maybe Annette had been right, maybe it was all about sex?

"I'd like that." Unsure of what to do, she leaned in, kissing him gently on the lips, letting it linger. "I've got to use the washroom." She said loud enough for a now standing Padma to hear. "I'll meet you here in five?"

He nodded enthusiastically. Poor fool.

Her heels echoed off the cool marble as she exited the restaurant, purposefully slowing her pace, she felt her heart begin to race. She could hear Padma's soft footsteps not far behind her.

"Delacour!" The drunk woman growled. But Gabrielle didn't stop, she'd played her role, the rest was up to Tonks.

A half second later she heard a thump hit the floor, smiling to herself, she exited a side door into the garden before disapparating without a sound.

* * *

"Huh." He said from beneath his invisibility cloak. There was no defensive perimeter, no concealment charms, no hidden defenses. It was almost as though Aiden was inviting him in. That didn't really surprise him, really.

Tossing aside his cloak, he walked through the gate, not even bothering to disable the solitary monitoring ward protecting the property. Aiden was expecting him, he was certain.

He felt a warmth in his feet from the charred earth and smelt sulphur in the air, remnants of his previous trip to the Orkney Islands a few days prior.

Aiden hadn't bothered to repair the destruction.

"I figured, why bother?" A hearty, pleasant voice proclaimed. "You've never excelled at occlumency, Harry."

He chided himself for the mental slip. Aiden's legilimency was the best in the Warlocks. "You look good Aiden!" Harry replied joyfully. "Recovered nicely from your injuries in Diagon Alley, ya?"

Aiden let out a hearty laugh while Harry's green eyes scanned the area.

Aiden's small house backed up to a steep cliff overlooking the sea at the northern end of the property. East of that, where a robust grassland once swayed in the wind, the ground was thick with ash and smoldering embers. Several large boulders to the west of the house would provide his only cover.

Would there be any traps?

No. Aiden thought he was better than him.

"You didn't land a spell on me in the alley, boy wonder."

Harry grinned, but not at the old nickname. "So it was you in the shop, then?"

He grinned. "Of course."

"Never leave rookies to do the important part." They finished together.

In an instant several spells erupted from his wand.

Eyebrow raised, the larger man batted the first two away with ease before dodging the last with a grace you wouldn't expect from a wizard his size.

"Trying to get a cheap one in, Harry?" Aiden chided with a chuckle, his body language still relaxed, though he now had his wand in his hand.

Harry shrugged; "I honestly didn't come here for a long fight, just your blood." He tapped his left breast pocket. "This bloody thing won't open without it."

Aiden's body language shifted significantly at the insult. His eyes and body narrowed as he entered a crouch while squaring his shoulders, ready to attack.

The dueling style was designed for practitioners specifically like Aiden; big athletic specimens with broad shoulders and quick feet. The large target area presented their biggest weakness, the style limited that weakness.

The precise dodging and a reliance on spell deflection minimized the need to waste time shielding.

Though the technique had been designed for men of Aiden's stature, it gained notoriety as the style of choice for dueling prodigy Bellatrix Black, before becoming infamous with Bellatrix Lestrange during the wars with Voldemort.

It was also Harry's preferred method of destruction.

He felt it before he saw it, contorting his torso out of the way of a particularly nasty organ remover and returning fire with several pointed steel rods of his own, hoping to impale his old friend before Aiden had a chance to get on a roll. The man was an offensive dynamo and it seemed best to not toy with his food.

Instead Aiden transfigured the rods into three grizzly bears.

While Harry took care with the bears, Aiden found his rhythm, forcing Harry to continue to dodge left, out of the charred grassland and closer to the cliff, his old protege was trying to box him in.

He growled, more to himself than to Aiden, who was continuing to send spells his way at an alarming rate. The rods were a poor choice. His mistake cost him a quick fight.

A flick of his wrist filled the afternoon sky with a wave of thick black smoke, providing him a moment's reprieve while he sprinted unseen towards the boulders, hoping to flip the field.

Guessing his play, Aiden unleashed a barrage of spells towards where Harry was headed.

Stopping, he pointed his wand upwards, twirling twice counterclockwise before striking downwards violently.

The magic was instantaneous as bolts of lightning rang down from the sky, dissipating the smoke and re-igniting the earth, causing Aiden to run towards him, wand levelled, curses flying.

Harry dodged the American's first two spells, but took a bonebreaker to his left arm to avoid a well placed killing curse.

Smirking, Harry flicked his wand four times in quick succession, unleashing a dozen small metal orbs Aiden's way with each flick.

His opponent took four to his lower abdomen, and another handful to his right thigh, splattering blood over the field. "You've finally taken my advice!" Aiden cackled with glee at Harry's use of the orbs, one of the Aiden's favorite tricks.

"Someone I used to know said it was impossible to dodge them all."

Both wizards lowered their wands, taking stock of the situation. " How long were you involved?"

Aiden shrugged. "I started looking into the disappearances after we sparred at the club." Aiden took a cautious step to the right, "her and Smith were foolishly simple to find. If you had had my resources you'd have found them too."

He pondered that, so there really was nobody looking into this?

"Why?"

Aiden shrugged, his posture more relaxed. "Money."

"I don't need legilimency for that one, Ace."

Aiden chuckled, "no, suppose you don't." They paced quietly for several long seconds.

"You know it was always about you -"

He rolled his eyes "Merlin, Ace. Are you really about to dive into some soliloquy about not being recognized? I left the Warlock's in disgrace and spent the next four years as either a private investigator or a drunken fence, depending on who you ask. You became the first cowboy to lead the Warlock's."

Aiden smirked. "Fine. But it was a little bit about the money." They fell silent as Harry continued to position himself closer to the boulders.

"I was bored." Aiden said simply, no deception in his voice.

"Bored?" Harry found himself bitterly disappointed with the man's response. He expected more, a hatred for him, maybe. Boredom was such a dull motive.

"I'd assumed you hated me and wanted to prove that you're better than me?"

Aiden shrugged. "I don't hate you, and I am better. I don't need to prove it to you or anyone else, though when I walk away alive, it will be obvious, I guess." He finished with a shrug.

Surprising him, Aiden attacked, a whip of black and purple flames racing towards him in anger.

The ground sizzled as the whip narrowly missed his left cheek before Harry had a chance to respond. Several bonebreakers leapt from his wand as he moved forward, following up his initial volley with a pair of disembowelment charms.

Aiden dodged away from the ugly charms and right into a laceration curse, cutting him laterally across his upper chest, letting out a roar as the smoke from the fire began to obscure Harry's view.

Sensing his opening , Harry charged, wand flowing in anger as he hurled spells towards his opponent, only for his eyes to widen in surprise as they passed through the illusion.

His body tensed as a spell made contact with his back, causing him to howl in pain.

"You've always been rash," Aiden said from behind him as his old friend calmly approached.

He let out an exaggerated cry, much to Aiden's pleasure as Harry turned to face the younger man.

Harry felt his back spasm once more as the pain spread from his lower back to his legs and upwards towards his chest, leaving him in pain everywhere it touched.

What was this curse?

"My own invention" Aiden started.

Reaching back with his left hand to grasp his back, he slowly positioned his wand towards Aiden from underneath his right sleeve.

"You'll be completely paralyzed soon."

Aiden wasn't bluffing, already he could feel the spell begin to creep upwards towards his neck.

'_Wingardium Leviosa.' _The simple first year spell took almost no effort, and yet it had so many uses. You could levitate a feather, or levitate a picture to hang on a hard-to-reach location, or you could use it to crush a grandiose bastard giving his cliched bad guy speech like the piggy he is.

Slowly the large boulder began to rise.

"I lied to you earlier, you know." Aiden said conversationally. "I do hate you."

His hazel eyes turned cold.

Color me shocked. Harry thought, keeping his focus on the boulder.

"I hate that you're famous for a series of events that you survived through almost no skill of your own."

He felt the effects of the spell begin to affect his arms, first his left, then slowly his right, it was like he was moving in concrete, he didn't have long.

He redoubled his focus. The boulder was nearly in place.

"You became who you are not through talent, but because you were given every opportunity to be great, and still you nearly fucked it all up."

He was really on a roll now, he hadn't even noticed the boulder floating above his head, yet. "You're the least impressive of the golden trio."

The shadow finally grabbed Aiden's attention causing his eyes to widen in alarm as Harry smirked.

"Hey Aiden?" He said, a mocking song in his voice. "Which is better? Law and rescue, or hunting and breaking things up?"

Releasing the spell, the large boulder fell from the sky, crushing Aiden beneath its weight, covering Harry in blood and gore while releasing Aidens spell.

Slowly getting to his feet, Harry wiped his face clean before grabbing a bit of Aiden's intestine from his shirt with a grin. "This will do!" He exclaimed merrily to the ruined field before removing a small package from his pocket.

Re-enlarging the package, Harry didn't take a second glance at the rusted metal lockbox before slapping the bloody bit of intestine on top.

With a soft yellow glow, the box popped open leaving Harry to peruse the contents. As he browsed he took stock of what he found, all of which corroborated or expanded upon Flint's evidence.

As he came towards the end of the documents, he stopped to smile broadly at a picture of Parvati and a terrified Victoire drinking champagne on a rooftop patio.

Victoire was alive.

* * *

"-Harry James Potter!" Hermione's voice jumped several octaves higher as she finally lost patience with him dancing around the question. "Is Padma Patil behind that door, yes or no?"

Next to his high-strung friend Hugo looked more amused than anything, if the look on the middle-aged lawyer's face was anything to go by.

He shared a glance with Tonks and Gabrielle. The Indian Ambassador had been missing for nearly two days now and the fallout of their plan hadn't even begun to manifest itself yet. Time was running out, pretty soon the Patils would report their daughter as missing.

"Hermoine -" Tonks started. "We don't know what you're talking about." The words of the metamorph were slow and deliberate in an attempt to make her point. "But -" his friend started before he cut her off.

"Hermoine!" His voice was firm as he met her eyes. "We don't. Know what. You're talking about." He glanced towards Hugo who wore an amused look on his face. "But if we hear anything, we will let you know."

Hermione looked ready to argue when Hugo gently grabbed her by the wrist. "We are not investigators, Hermione." He said calmly as he led her from the room. "If our clients need us, they have our number." Hermione frowned but didn't argue the point further. "If you have anything to tell me, you know where to find me."

The two lawyers left the trio alone in silence. "Gabrielle." He started, a bit of guilt crept into his consciousness, he hated putting her in this position but he saw no other way, "how does the Zekanot issue an arrest warrant?"

Tonks raised an eyebrow, no doubt understanding where he was taking this. "Evidence would need to be produced to the legal committee who would vote on an official warrant, they would then need signoff from two Elder's."

He frowned slightly. He was hoping she would have that power unilaterally, hadn't Annette?

Seeing his frown Gabrielle seemed to catch on to his line of thinking. "Any Elder, however, can issue a decree asking someone to come in for questioning."

"How are those recorded?"

Gabrielle smiled at the metamorph deviously. "In the registrar."

"Is there anything special about this registrar? Any special protections or security measures?"

Gabrielle shook her head. "Just my signature and a shred of evidence to support the need for questioning."

"Well we have that." Harry said with a smile. They had been disappointed to find that Aidens box contained no information on Padma's possible involvement. He did, however, have that recorded conversation.

Gabrielle nodded. "That will do."

"Do you and Tonks want to take care of that while I tend to our guest?"

Gabrielle nodded in affirmation. "Yes."

**111**

He watched from the otherside of the observation wall as Padma stood up from her cot and began to pace the room anxiously before taking a seat at the small desk and browsing some of the books they had provided her.

She looked confused and unnerved, but most of all Padma looked _tired _as if she hadn't slept in several days.

She'd now spent the better part of two days and a night in her room with no human contact and no explanation. Just a cot, a desk, a handful of books, and three meals a day.

It was time. She was ready.

Padma looked up in fear as he slowly opened the door and stepped into the room.

"Good afternoon, Padma. How are you?" Harry began as he plopped down into the desk chair in reverse, so that his arms and chin could rest on the uncomfortable wooden chair.

"H-H-Harry." She got out. The former Ravenclaw's childhood stutter makes an appearance.

Unlike her twin, Padma was quiet, reserved, and extraordinarily intelligent. After Hogwarts she had studied Law at Oxford with Hermione before entering politics.

Silently he removed the orb containing her conversation with Lavender and hit play.

He watched as her eyes widened, first in surprise, then in fear at what the evidence meant for her.

"Shortly after this conversation Parvati killed Lavender, then she went to Shell Cottage and murdered Fleur Weasley and stabbed me."

Padma's face screamed fear but she remained silent.

"Tell me where she is. If we recover Victoire alive then Gabrielle and the Zekanot will publicly thank you for helping aid in the capture of an international fugitive, and you will look like an impartial hero standing up for justice, even at the expense of family. I imagine you'll be quite effective in your role, after that."

"She's my sister -" Padma's defense was feeble, she didn't even attempt to acknowledge his greater point.

"And she will kill you the second she suspects you've spoken with me."

Padma looked like she wanted to fight but her intelligence won out and a look of contemplation overcame her exhausted face. Finally, she nodded her head. "Promise me you won't kill her?"

He couldn't promise her that, but he would try. "I promise."

An overwhelmingly sad demeanor overcame Padma as she nodded her head in agreement. "Fine. But I want this in writing and filed with my lawyer."

* * *

Dressed in jeans and a light red t-shirt, Harry navigated through the posh lobby and to the elevator without raising suspicion, courtesy of a notice-me-not charm. He had left Padma's cell with a secret and some intel before immediately apparating to the location he was given.

Parvati had taken refuge in a posh apartment complex overlooking the Thames. The forty second floor belonged to the Patil family, and Harry had a sneaking suspicion that the Patils stole the floor from muggles back in the early part of the millennium when regulation was non-existent and the muggles were ignorant.

Reading the note and looking back at the dash, Harry smiled in wonder as a button for a previously unseen forty second floor appeared.

The penthouse had four bedrooms over two levels as well as a private rooftop garden and two balconies. It was likely, Padma said, that Parvati was keeping her in one of the two guestrooms on the second floor, to the right of the staircase.

Throwing on his invisibility cloak, Harry exited the lift into a well lit atrium with marble floors and Victorian decor, classical music rang through the place while work from the Old Master's gazed down upon him, making him feel as though he were in a museum.

Pausing for a moment, Harry flicked his wand. There were eight magical signatures in the apartment, one of which was a veela.

Victoire was alive, he felt some tension relieve itself at the realization.

He also recognized Parvati in the room next to Victoire's.

Each room had two guards outside their doors. Poor planning on Parvati's part. She'd gifted him a killbox.

The two remaining guards were in the kitchen.

Wand in his right, knife in his left, Harry silenced his feet and slowly made his way through the atrium.

"She's going to kill us." The voice was young, nervous, and male.

"She's not going to kill us." The second voice was also male, and seemed uncertain.

Harry smirked. Parvati kills everyone.

"She kills everyone." The first male voice was getting louder as Harry approached the stocky brown haired man from behind, he was about to become visible to guard number two at the table and prepared himself.

"What the -" Harry's severing charm didn't let the man at the table finish his thought as the violent red light met the man's jugular at about the same time Harry's knife slit the second guards throat, covering him, and most everything else in crimson.

His shoes silenced, Harry sprinted towards the spiral staircase, making his way to the second floor and hanging a right, getting several steps in before reaching the impasse leading to Victoire's hallway.

Harry observed the four men; three righties and a lefty, all four at least twelve and a half stone. They were big, but packed into a narrow corridor, and two of the righties would be casting from the same side, they'd disrupt each other, if it got that far, which it wouldn't.

"I'll be right back, gotta take a piss."

"Make it quick."

He sighed. So much for bloodless and efficient.

As the guard made it around the corner, Harry's blade found his gut as he made himself visible, using the first guard as a physical shield, a killing curse already on his lips.

"Hey!" One guard yelled as Harry hit him with a killing curse, drawing the attention of the two guards.

"Confringo!"

Harry smacked the pair of explosion curses into the wall, causing the penthouse to shake violently and leaving the burgundy wall with a massive hole.

"Explosion curses? Really?" He said, ditching the physical shield. "There's a child in there!" He said, pointing at the room where Victoire was being held.

The two guards fell for the distraction, giving Harry a moment to hit them both with killing curses before calmly making his way to Parvati's room.

"Oh Parvati! Come out and say hi, it's been so long!"

He heard a hysterical laughter from behind the door. "Why don't you come in doll, let's have a chat."

Carefully opening the door he found Parvati in black lingerie, applying dark red lipstick in front of a full length mirror.

Not turning around, but glancing at him through the mirror, she smiled. "It looks like you've been having some fun!" She cooed, finally moving to face him.

Placing her hands on his shoulders she smiled as she looked him in the eyes. "Tell me you're not aroused by all this."

He raised an eyebrow. Parvati was insane. "I'm not."

"Huh." She genuinely seemed surprised by his response. "I am." She replied before changing the subject.

"How'd you know it was Padma?"

"I overheard a conversation between her and Lavender shortly before you killed her."

"YOU KILLED LAVENDER!" She roared. "You, and the Weasleys, and Delacour." Her anger turned to sobs. "It was just Veela, Harry!"

The swing in her mood was dramatic and jarring. She'd lost her grip on reality.

"You're not going to hurt me, Harry."

"No. I'm not." He sighed. "Stupefy."

He sat there staring at her for a moment, unable to hate her like he should, like she deserved. With a sigh, he placed a pen on her chest and activated the portkey, sending her straight to the holding cells at the reservation in Menton. She was no longer his problem.

Alone in the room, Harry exhaled, a smile on his as he exited the room and crossed the hall, pausing at the door to Victoire's room.

'_She's to the right of the door, in the corner.'_

Opening the door and turning to the right, he nearly laughed at the sight of a restrained Victoire swinging a paperweight at him before recognition dawned in her beautiful blue eyes.

"Uncle Harry!"

Victoire launched herself at him, wrapping her tiny arms around his neck as she cried. "It's okay, it's going to be okay."

The truth was, a nightmare awaited Victoire outside these walls, but that's not what she needed to hear right now. She could face that another time.

Victoire pushed back, an odd look on her face as she looked at him, and for the first time he realized he was covered in blood. "Don't worry love, it's not my blood."

* * *

"Miss Weasley!"

Her friends stopped, but she waved them on. "I'll see you in the hall."

Zoe nodded, leading Teddy and the others towards the door of the transfiguration classroom. "No need, Miss Weasley. Your aunt wanted me to give you this, that is all."

Victoire smiled kindly at her second favorite professor. "Thank you, Headmistress McGonagall."

The elderly witch sent her off with a soft smile.

"What'd McGonagall want?" Teddy greeted her with the second she exited the classroom.

She smiled used to the questions by now. Her aunt said it was because he liked her, but she just found it annoying.

"Gabrielle sent me a letter, the Headmistress was just delivering it."

The Ravenclaw smiled and turned his attention back to Ewen.

"Maranda!" She quipped, grabbing the Gryffindor's ear. "Have you picked your electives?"

A bit of doubt came into Victoire's voice as she pondered her options. She was already so advanced in creatures, and Harry said only lunatics take divination. That left ancient runes, healing, arithmancy, and the mysteriously named 'Magic' that her uncle refused to give her any insight into.

As the rather large group walked, Victoire was aware that the conversations around her had come to a halt while she chatted with Maranda, and Victoire had to remind herself to involve others.

"I'm not sure yet. What about you?"

The group seemed curious to hear her response as they came to a stop in front of the great hall. They had about three minutes until the bell rang.

"I can't not take Magic." She said impulsively, before chiding herself silently. She wasn't sure what she was taking and now half of next year's third years would want to take a class none of them would be qualified for. "I'm not sure about the rest. What about you, Lily?"

Tara's fellow Hufflepuff glanced at her best friend before answering. "We were definitely taking Magic, and I think we'll also take healing."

Tara had taken a liking to healing since moving in with her and her dad.

Around her the conversation went on but Victoire found her thoughts elsewhere. What would her mother want her to take? Would her grandmother take healing or arithmancy? She was told it should be her own choice, but she couldn't help but wonder what they'd think of her.

The bell shook her from her thoughts as the group separated, leaving the Gryffindors and Slytherins to make the journey to class alone. Even though they were two minutes late, they weren't worried about tardiness as they took their seats. Their professor had never been on time in her years here.

"Do you think he'll keep his promise?" Casey asked hopefully as they took their seats.

She smiled at the excitable blond Gryffindor. "He always does."

Truth be told she was excited for this class. She'd grown up around Harry and had heard all his stories, these would be new for the rest.

She loved him so much. He saved her life.

It had taken nearly two years for her and Tara to accept what they'd been through. Without the support of Harry and Elder Potter she wasn't sure they'd have survived, her father owed them too, now that she thought on it.

The sound of a slamming door and cheers from her fellow classmates brought her back to reality as a grumpy Harry Potter entered the room. In his two years in the role two things had yet to happen; her uncle showing up on time to class and her uncle losing a bet.

Taking a seat at his desk, Professor Potter stared at her menacingly.

"My minions -" he said, a scowl in his voice. "Because Sltytherin, led by a stupid second year, of all people, beat my Lions, you get one day to ask me any questions you may have."

"Youngest seeker of the millennium, I'm told." She quipped, interrupting him and drawing a laugh from her peers.

"I was younger." He snapped back.

Taking a deep breath, her uncle smiled softly. "Now, who's first?"

Victoire raised her hand.

"Not you, you're disqualified."

Harry's comments earned more chuckles, including from Victoire. Elder Potter told her that being able to laugh at yourself was important.

"Moon! You look particularly eager to ask me something. What do you want to know?"

The mousy black haired boy nearly jumped out of his chair in excitement.

"Dumbledore is widely considered the greatest Headmaster in Hogwarts history-"

She sat up at attention, a smile tugging at her lips. This would be good.

"-they say he's the only one Voldemort ever feared. What made him such a great Headmaster? And how lucky do you feel to have lived under him?"

Her uncle smacked his head on his desk in frustration. "DUMBLEDORE-" her uncle yelled, loud enough for the old Headmaster's portrait to hear Harry from the Defense Professor's attached office. "Was too cheap to buy property and the Board of Governors wouldn't let him live here if he didn't work."

This time Victoire couldn't contain her laughter as her uncle grinned her way, her troubles momentarily forgotten.

**Fin**

* * *

**A/N: **That's all, folks! Thank you so much for reading! Somehow this story got less love than PtP and I'm baffled. I'm very proud of this one, could it have been better? Yes. But it was leaps and bounds better than PtP and that means something to me.


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